


Living Stone Architecture

by billboard_dinosaur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Architect Harry Potter, Construction Magic, F/M, Indian Harry Potter, architecture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-11-27 02:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billboard_dinosaur/pseuds/billboard_dinosaur
Summary: Harry Potter is 18 years old and he doesn’t know who he is.It may be a bit dramatic to say something like that, because he realises he is Harry Potter. But he’s just a random guy who doesn’t even know what he likes to do for fun, now that Lord Voldemort has been defeated.Or, the one where Harry Potter doesn't know what to do with himself after the war, so he becomes an architect, makes new friends, falls in love, and accidentally changes the world.





	1. Landing

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking on this fic! Updates should come every Monday or Tuesday. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a stranger finds an even stranger building on a strange asteroid on an unfamiliar planet. 
> 
> I promise, this isn't a weird sci-fi story.

**I. Landing**

He picks up the book after checking it for any curses. No matter what the source, you check it for curses; it’s a common refrain that his parents had drilled into his head from his youth. He truly has no idea how old this book was. The parchment material is completely unfamiliar. Neither is the covering and binding—alien. _Although_, he reminds himself, _of course it’s alien_. _I’m inside a weird building on an asteroid._

It is true. By some miracle—or disaster, really; depending on where you were on the planet—in the meteor shower last night, one large asteroid fell to the planet’s surface. Since it was in a remote area of the planet, only recently colonised, the asteroid did not manage to harm any of the human population, to their great relief. The flora and fauna in the region were certainly another story. 

Regardless, he had made his way to the asteroid first and laid claim to its treasures by carefully placing a conjured rope around the perimeter of the crash zone; labelling it periodically with “Already under investigation. Keep out.” But instead of fascinating rocks and minerals, he had found this strange building. A building. A perfectly intact building. It was massive and undoubtedly otherworldly; it certainly looked like some of the buildings he saw in some of his equally otherworldly history books. It was also undoubtedly magical. It had been so carefully preserved, so he knew it was undoubtedly made by ancient magicians. He had learned about how the ancient magicians had powerful yet dangerous methods to construct buildings that lasted for eternity in his history courses at university. This building _had_ to be one of them—and as a result, everything inside the building was dangerous. 

But the building did not _feel_ dangerous, he noticed upon stepping inside. The magic was thick, and he was almost overwhelmed with the idea that the magic inhabiting this structure was excited to have someone inside it. This immediately put him on guard, worried that he was about to be trapped inside a building with no escape. He was slightly reassured, however, that his signage outside would not stop people forever, so that his dead body would hopefully one day be found.

The magic seemed to calm down after he tensed up in reaction, almost apologetic. It tried to communicate a sense of loneliness—a sense of a vast passage of time filled with darkness and the unending cold, countered by fiery heat and pain to resolve into a pleasant warmth and friendly greeting. It was trying to communicate with him, he realised. This aspect of ancient civilization had never been recorded in his studies. That detail had surely been lost to time. This building was _alive_.

He relaxed slightly, but still felt nervous. The building had tried to explain that it had been alone for a very long time, likely during its time on an asteroid (_who decides to construct a building on an asteroid,_ he thought). It had been very afraid during the meteor shower, which was fiery and painful. It was now happy that it was in a warm place with friends. Or at least, that’s what he wanted to think. It could have been talking about how it thought that he was a dark and cold enemy that would suffer fiery pain and burn to death in order to make the building feel happy and friendly, but he figured he would take his chances. 

So he explored the building and marvelled at how impeccably clean and beautiful it was, if you appreciated the ancient architects’ style choices. Personally, he thought the colour choices were hideous, but he supposed he couldn’t blame _asteroid_ architects their preferences.

He had found what he thought was a library—and was excited at first when he thought that thousands of books from an ancient civilization had somehow survived a space trip, and was subsequently disappointed to find that most had disintegrated.

But the book he has in his hands, however was one of the few that he found intact. He hopes that, despite all odds, the book will tell the story of its journey. He says this out loud, for emphasis. And then the building seems to understand him—and then seems to guide him away from the book in his hands and toward a different room altogether.

Generally, the building is odd. One notable feature is its peculiar ramps leading everywhere that are surprisingly unintuitive. However, the space he is led to is the strangest he has seen so far. It is full of ramps. Ramps as high as the top of the building, starting at the base. It is the worst use of space he has ever seen in his life. He truly doubts the ancient architects had any common sense.

But ignoring the odd ramps everywhere, he is guided to the centre of the column of ramps. He feels prompted to lift the stone from the ground—and he recoils because this is not how you lead an archaeological dig! But the building is insistent and he was never one for self-control, so he obeys. Underneath the stone is a small box. He takes it out of the opening, and replaces the stone. He says _thank you_ to the air, and then quickly leaves the offensive room behind. He dislikes ramps. They are not efficient.

He proceeds to the room he saw when he first entered the building and sits himself on the ground, not wanting to disturb the undoubtedly fragile furniture.

He opens the box, and inside finds an image of four people smiling. The building magic swirls around him thickly and he realises that these four people clearly are important for the building’s history. The reverse of the image has ruins on it—a vaguely familiar runic language, but completely incomprehensible to his eyes.

Underneath the image is a tome. It is rich with magic and impressively heavy. He eagerly picks up the book and turns to the first page, only to belatedly realise he would never be able to read its text. The runes are the same as on the image. Begrudgingly he accepts that he will have to consult one of the universities for assistance in translating the volume.

He leaves for the day, but makes sure to cast a strong spell around the structure. He wants to make sure that no one else can raid this building before he is finished exploring. This way, only he can find it. He’s quite selfish in that way.

He decides he will seek a translator that same day—this is much too important to put off until tomorrow. He visits his old professor he got along well with, and copies down some of the runes before showing him the book. He doesn’t want any thievery going on here until he knows the man is trustworthy, of course. 

The professor is amazed by the runes, and says that they are undoubtedly genuine and well over several thousand years old. He already knew this, of course, considering they came from off of an asteroid. He asks the professor if he can translate them, because he has many more of the ruins. The professor becomes so excited that he needs to take a potion for his nerves.

He swears the professor to secrecy, and the professor is not one for giving up knowledge so he agrees, and then he brings out the book and the professor looks at it in awe.

The professor asks if he can touch the book. Permission is granted, and so he opens the pages, and tears come to his eyes. _You have found something priceless_, the professor weeps. _I will die happy_.

He is alarmed—_you can’t die until you translate it!_

The professor quickly straightens him out and informs him sharply that he is not going to die until every last inch is translated.

Although the ruins are translated fairly easily, the words they form are difficult to parse. The grammar and language style are obtuse with far too many words for far too little meaning. The economy of language, the professor admits, was not yet achieved by this writing. He becomes even more excited. 

The more they translate, the more they realise that what they have is not just a history of a building’s origins. It’s a history of a world that is so far removed that it only exists in legends but _here they have the proof of it in their hands_. It _existed_ and the stories their parents and grandparents and great-grand parents told them _were real_ not just legends _and no one knows but them_.

So they do what any reasonable people would do, and tell no one—yet. They have to finish translating, first. They don’t want the government to come and take this away from them. This has become a spiritual experience—no longer an academic endeavour.

Because that building they found—it’s not just a building. It’s a soul.


	2. 1998 – 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry travels the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any inaccuracies with regard to my usage of Hindi or the culture of India are entirely my own. Please contact me so I may correct these issues. I apologize if any offense has risen to due these errors.

**II. 1998 – 2000**

Harry Potter is 18 years old and he doesn’t know who he is.

It may be a bit dramatic to say something like that, because he realises he is Harry Potter. He just defeated Lord Voldemort with the help of his friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. But very few people know that Harry Potter had to die to kill him. Fewer still know that a part of Harry went with him. 

Again, Harry feels that it may be a bit dramatic to say that. But to suddenly realise that your entire personality has _changed_ after a horcrux is removed from your soul but not immediately realise that the very same missing horcrux is the cause for the personality change is quite traumatising. Harry sincerely thought that a part of him died. His friends think he is having post-traumatic stress disorder, which is a perfectly valid opinion. Harry sometimes thinks this himself, but then realises that he simply no longer feels invincible. That was something the horcrux made him feel. And because he doesn’t feel invincible anymore, Hermione and Ron are confused why he doesn’t want to be an auror anymore. Well, not just Hermione and Ron. Everyone seems to be confused about it. But Harry—he doesn’t want to fight anymore. He feels less angry, less volatile. He feels more accepting of other people’s opinions. He’s calmer. But he supposes that this makes him seem depressed to people who don’t realise that he’s actually doing _fine_. He just doesn’t know who he is anymore. Harry Potter as the Boy-Who-Lived doesn’t exist anymore. He’s just Harry Potter, a random guy who doesn’t even know what he likes to do for fun. 

Well, he does know what he _doesn’t_ like to do. He _doesn’t_ like fighting. He _doesn’t_ want to fight people, and he _absolutely_ doesn’t like the praise he’s getting for defeating Voldemort. He hates the attention, and he’s relieved that’s one thing he has in common with the pre-post-Voldemort Harry Potter.

So maybe he hasn’t changed that much. He doesn’t think people should be reacting so strangely to him saying that he doesn’t really want to fight anymore with such flabbergasted expressions, but they do.

So when Ron applies for the DMLE and Hermione enrols for the new term in Hogwarts in August, they expect Harry to follow one of them.

They do _not_ expect Harry to tell them that he’s going to travel the world.

They’re shocked. They immediately demand an explanation.

Harry is honest and tells them that he’s intending it as a soul-searching trip, as a way for him to explore what else is out there in the world. Find out who he really is, and discover what he really likes to do. He’s not sure what he wants to do with his life. He’s not going to use any of the money in his vaults at Gringotts. He’ll use the money the Ministry awarded him for the death of Voldemort, and he’ll come back in time for the holidays. A year off, he says. 

They’re not too pleased with Harry’s statement that he doesn’t know who he really is, so they tell him who he is. He’s Harry Potter; have you been obliviated? Do you need to go to St. Mungo’s?

Harry is exasperated, and tells them that it’s more of a phrase than anything. He gives up with an honest explanation, and lies and tells them that’s he’s doing it for the PTSD and that Dumbledore was planning on going on one of these trips, so it can’t be a bad idea. 

He really wants to go so he can figure out who he is without anyone influencing him. He’s had enough of untoward influence in his lifetime. The horcrux influenced him for over 17 years. His friends, his teachers, his relatives – everyone influenced him in one way or another and he wants to figure out who Harry Potter is without that influence. That’s really why he wants to go away, but he can’t tell them that because he’s fairly certain that saying that would not endear himself to his friends, who would be offended at the idea that they have been influencing him.

But they accept the idea of a healing trip and remark that Dumbledore did try to go on a world-tour after he graduated, so the idea does have merit. Ron asks if he should go with him, but Harry is quick to tell him to join the aurors. _They need people now_, he says. _I don’t want to hold you back_.

They are kind to him, and wish him well. Harry starts planning for his trip. He decides to sell 12 Grimmauld Place—too many memories in that house—and then all too quickly, he finds himself in Egypt.

He planned to tour the Great Pyramids, as a homage to Bill’s work. Bill is still in Britain with Fleur. Harry’s pretty sure that his wild Egyptian curse-breaking days are over, but Harry is intrigued by the idea, so going to Egypt could spark a genuine desire to learn more about it.

But Egypt does not meet Harry’s preference for long-term work. The Great Pyramids of Giza, Harry feels, are not as magnificent as the photos show. He understands now why they only are taken in one direction, because the Muggles have built far too closely to them on the other side that the view would be disrupted by their homes. He is slightly disappointed that he is unable to climb the pyramid. He did not realise that he needed to get permission from the local Ministry. He does not think he will attempt to get permission; he’s trying to stay under the radar.

Harry hasn’t told anyone this, in fear of the response he will get from his friends and the Ministry, but since the horcrux’s removal, he’s noticed that he’s become significantly more powerful magically. In addition, Harry can’t help but notice that he’s growing taller. This is slightly disturbing to him. He asks an Egyptian witch who the locals say is an expert in dark magic (theory only, the locals say with a wink that Harry cannot interpret in any other way but that it is not only theory) to help him figure out what’s going on after explaining the issue.

She laughs at him and says quite plainly that the horcrux actually physically stunted his growth as its encapsulation had been steadily draining magic from Harry. She goes on to tell him that if Harry were an average wizard, the presence of the horcrux would have quickly killed him due to the magical demands that were required to prevent possession and then subsequently maintain existence. With its removal, Harry had at last gained full control of his powers. As a result, his magic is probably comparable to whichever great wizard of history he wants to compare himself to, she concludes. 

Harry is slightly taken aback, and accuses her of pulling his leg. She waves her hands above her head while laughing and says in her heavily accented English _no leg-pulling here_. 

So Harry now feels even more strange because he is not only ridiculously powerful to survive a horcrux, but he also survived the horcrux removal and that’s why he’s suddenly much more powerful—_as he should have been all along_. 

Egypt has not left Harry feeling well. He leaves, and goes to Mexico. He has heard of fantastic ruins there—also pyramids—that you can climb. He’s never had Mexican food, either. It sounds like an adventure.

The ruins of Chichen Itza are on the Yucatan Peninsula, and it is also very warm when Harry arrives. It is also swarming with Muggles. They are _everywhere_—climbing all over the pyramid. He must have come at a bad time. There’s magic in the air here too, Harry notices. It’s strange—perhaps a strange _notice-me-not_ spell to protect some of the more delicate ruins from the trampling Muggles? He’s not sure, but Harry understands their enthusiasm. The ruins are pretty spectacular. He climbs to the top and looks around. The Mexican jungle is a stark contrast compared to the Egyptian desert. Despite the smaller size of Chichen Itza, he’s pleased. He’s been able to climb something wonderful. 

Pyramids, he decides, are marvellous. He decides to visit several others in Mexico, before stopping in Guatemala for El Mirador. He heard of it in the wizarding district of Mexico City, from a group of friendly locals. The reserve was opened only eight years earlier, they say. They suggest going with their friend, Alejandro; he’s the wizard on the archaeological team. Harry agrees, and then goes to Belize to meet up with Alejandro in Belize City. Alejandro tells Harry that since he’s part of a mainly non-magic team, they’ll be traveling to El Mirador the normal way. Harry says this is okay; he’s Muggle-raised. Alejandro relaxes immediately. 

“_¡Menos mal! _I was worried you were going to be one of those stuffy wizards. Miguel told me he sent someone he met in _El Pasaje_ my way and I was worried you weren’t gonna fit in,” he explains. 

Harry laughs. He thinks of Draco Malfoy. He smiles. “I know exactly of the kind of person you’re talking about. No, I’ll be fine.”

And he is fine; the trip into Guatemala is fine. They take local buses and hitch rides with locals until they reach the small town of Carmelita. From there, they set out on a 41-kilometre hike through the Guatemalan jungle. It is gorgeous. It takes two days. It is the rainy season. It is muddy. The route is hard to travel because of the deep water they sometimes have to cross. Harry is grateful for magic, but makes sure to use it sparingly. He listens to Alejandro, and only uses magic when Alejandro does; he doesn’t want to seem like one of those “stuffy” wizards. They arrive at El Mirador and the ruins are spectacular. They are overgrown, and some are crumbling, but Harry climbs to the top of the largest pyramid and he feels alive.

On the journey out of the jungle from El Mirador, Alejandro asks Harry what he thought. Harry smiles and talks about how much work it must have been for the people to build those—did they have magic? How do wizards even build things? 

Alejandro listens and then he starts to talk about magical construction—something Harry had never even thought about before. He says that magical construction isn’t very popular in some countries, but that in pretty much all pre-colonial civilization on the Americas, all major ruins were built using magical methods. Sure, Alejandro says, they used traditional non-magical techniques as well, but to make sure that those buildings stick around? Magic. It all comes back to magic 

And for the really heavy stuff as well, Alejandro add. Harry laughs. 

Alejandro sends him to Machu Pichu in Peru. He tells Harry that he’s going to want to figure out how on earth they built that, if these _puny pyramids_ fascinate him. 

Harry doubts this, but then he sees Machu Pichu in Peru and he takes back every doubting thought he’s every had about the venture. Machu Pichu is literally on the top of a mountain. He’s spent four days hiking to get here—the Inca Trail’s 39km route was almost easy after the bushwhacking he went through. It’s the end of the dry season here, and he appreciated walking on dry land. The mountains here are phenomenal, he admits. The sheer size is on a completely different scale and it’s terrifying.

Machu Pichu is spectacular in its own right. Harry acknowledges that Alejandro was completely correct—he has no idea why the Incans decided building this city was a good idea. He listens to the tour guide talk about how the stones were not transported with wheels, despite the Incas knowing about them. Apparently, the lack of animals to pull them, along with the steep inclines, prevented their common usage.

Then he learns about how the Incan engineers built their terraces so that there were little landslides during the rains. They layered the terraces with specific patterns of materials so that rainfall would be able to drain quickly without damaging crops or hurting the mountain’s stability. 

Harry is impressed. He asks the guide many questions, feeling somewhat bad for monopolising his attention, but he somewhat senses that his questions are equally appreciated by the other tourists. Overall, he is thoroughly impressed by the ancient engineers of the Incan empire. Machu Pichu, sitting in the clouds of the Andes mountains, is a world unlike anything he has ever seen.

He spends several days in Cusco, deciding where to go next. He visits several more Incan sites in South America where he was reprimanded by several fellow world-travellers for not exploring properly before departing back to Africa.

He first stops in Mali, at the Bandiagara Escarpment. It is a city built into the side of a mountain, and it certainly feels as magical as it looks. While he is there, he stays with some of the local Dogon people. He learns about the people that originally learned in the Bandiagara Escarpment, the Tellem. He restrains a laugh when he learns that some people insisted that they were able to fly – clearly, these were magical people who did not care to hide their powers. They were the first people to live in these cliffs, many years ago. Harry visits their dwellings and senses again those strange spells he felt in Mexico. He’s not certain if they actually are _notice-me-not _spells anymore, but he’s not sure what else would be around here.

The Dogon are mostly Muslim people, and so while he is still in Mali, they tell him to visit the Great Mosque of Djenné. He is unable to enter the mosque; apparently some Yankee magazine desecrated the mosque with scantily-clad women during a photo-shoot only two years earlier, so they prevented all non-worshippers from entering. Harry is disappointed since the information he was given is out-dated. But the exterior certainly is an adobe masterpiece—and it too feels like that same magic at Chichen Itza and the Bandiagara Escarpment.

He spends time in Africa, enjoying a safari tour, visiting with the cheerful people and wandering the local magical sectors of the cities he stops in. He is in Ethiopia when he mentions his interest in odd architectural buildings, and he is told to visit _Bete Giyorgis_, the Church of Saint George, in Lalibela. He is looking around him, trying to identify where this mysterious church is, when he almost slips and falls and then there it is—the church is in the ground. The church has been _dug into the ground_. It is a monolithic church—carved out of one stone block into the ground. It is a 30-meter-deep trench with a church in the middle shaped in a cross. Harry has no idea how to access it, until some helpful stranger sees him standing there, baffled, and guides him to a spiralling canyon that leads him into a tunnel that deposits him into the cavernous courtyard of the church. The stranger, who speaks no English, smiles and nods happily before turning away. Harry walks around the church in complete bafflement. The pyramids, the cities, the ruins—he all understood _why_ those were built, and he generally understood how.

Harry has no idea why this was built, why is was built into the ground instead of up out of the ground. He does not know how long this church must have taken to be dug out of nothing. He attends a service at the church, but he doesn’t pay any attention; he mainly stares around the building in confused wonder. 

Harry files out of the church with the other patrons and winds his way up the spiralling canyon and out of the bewildering ravine. He finds himself a tree to sit under—and then he thinks.

He has been traveling for four months now. It is December, Harry realises. Late December, and he suddenly remembers that he told Ron and Hermione that he would have visited over the holidays. And, he reckons, he should have probably written. But he was _busy_, in a weird sort of way. He was learning—and he has learned so much. He has learned about the ancient populations of Central and South America, many different African tribes and populations—not to mention the countless buildings and construction marvels he has seen. He tries to list them, and then realises that this list is surprisingly long.

But he understands that he really wants to see more buildings, more man-made marvels. So he decides, instead of aimlessly wandering, he’s going to plan for the next year. He has several maps in his bag, so he pulls them out and lays them in front of him. He starts to write down—circling places that he wants to see. He notes that the Quidditch World Cup was cancelled this year due to the small problem of Voldemort being an evil man, and so it will be held next year in Ukraine. He marks that down—if he’s travelling, he’s just going to have to make a stop there.

The first top, on his list, is India. The Taj Mahal, the Chand Baori, the India Gate, and the Kandariya Mahadeva Temple all are places he wants to see.

It is still December when he stops in Delhi, and Mumbai, and finds that the locals treat him as a local himself. They are much more helpful than any other locals. He discovers the reason, when he realises, for the first time, that this is because he actually looks local. He frequently forgets that James Potter _was_ Indian. He feels somewhat ashamed to not even know where James Potter is from—what language he would speak. He is lucky most everyone speaks English, but he never felt so foreign in a place where he feels most welcome. He decides that he will learn Hindi, because even if the Potters never spoke it, it is spoken by the most people in India.

He discreetly picks up an English-to-Hindi dictionary and grammar manual and lies to the cashier, _my friend, he is jealous_. The cashier smiles knowingly, and then Harry leaves quickly. 

Harry pours over the dictionary and gramma books and decides that the best thing he can do for himself is to look like a complete fool in public and be embarrassed. He prefaces every conversation with, _I am learning Hindi, please let me practice?_ And Harry is always surprised with how enthusiastic the other person becomes and so he learns slowly, but is becoming more capable as time passes. 

Harry spends far too much time in India. He visited the sites he wanted to fairly quickly and he only notices the odd magic at the Taj Mahal—but he’s growing more and more proficient in Hindi. He’s holding conversations now with the grocers that he visits regularly and they always praise him and tell him he is improving. Harry tries hard to not use English for anything; being in more rural parts of the Hindi-speaking areas of India helps—less people know English and there’s less signs with English translations.

It is when Harry has his first dream in Hindi that he realises he hasn’t had to look up a word in his dictionary for several weeks. He asks his friend, Priya, if she thinks he is good at Hindi—if his accent is as horrible as he thinks. She laughs, “You have been good for a while. You have not asked us to slow down or repeat ourselves in a long time. You sound like one of us.” And Harry considers this and recognises that she is correct.

“We just have to give you a proper name, and then you can go,” Priya says. So they gather together all of their friends, Vijaya, Amala, Navdeep, Ahmed, and Rafiq. 

Vijaya says that Harry should be named _Akshay_, because “it means immortal”—but Harry is quick to shut that option down. _Nothing about immortality!_

Amala suggests _Mohan_ for Harry’s good looks, but that just brings laughter from everyone which increases when they all realise Amala was serious. 

The twins Navdeep and Ahmed just look at each other and say that Harry should be named _Ahmed Navdeep_, or _Navdeep Ahmed_ which makes Harry scoff. 

Rafiq thinks for a while and shrugs his shoulders. _Ajay_: “Invincible.” 

This one gets some approval from everyone, including Navdeep and Ahmed who really are only here for the food, but then Priya whispers with Vijaya who whispers to Amala and then they say that _Ajay_ will not be happening even though they think it’s great because they think _Advait _will be Harry’s name and that’s final. 

Everyone agrees almost immediately. Harry asks what it means, and then to everyone’s surprise, Navdeep explains: “It means unique. Or free from duality, whichever one you like more.”

While the unique part Harry couldn’t care less for—it’s the _free from duality_ that hits him hard. Because that’s exactly what he’s trying to do with his life. He’s freeing himself from that duality of soul he had back in England. He smiles. 

“_Advait_, then.” He says. They all cheer, and they celebrate their last few days together and then Harry promises them he will visit, but he needs to get going. It is August, 1999. 

“_Alvida_ _Advait_!” They say. Ahmed says “_Ise haraye!_” which makes Harry laugh and then they hug and then Harry leaves and he is going to stop in Spain before he goes to Ukraine for the world cup. 

He decides he will see first the infamous Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. He understands that this will be the first building he is visiting that will still be under construction and that there is a magical construction firm working on the building. He has been eagerly waiting to see the magic of construction—maybe this will help explain all of those questions he has been having for the past year. The only things he has seen have either been remarkably preserved, like the Taj Mahal or in complete ruins, like Machu Pichu. 

When he arrives, he carefully notes the spells the workers are using and writes them down surreptitiously. But then he quickly becomes alarmed when he realises that the same spells that they are using have weakened dramatically in certain completed areas of the structure. Unsure if they should be notified of this issue, he doesn’t say anything, but leaves feeling particularly uneasy. These spells, he notes, don’t feel anything like the odd magic he has felt throughout the world.

He stops by monasteries on top of mountains and takes cable cars to get to them, and he visits Madrid and enjoys the late nights and the happy atmosphere. But August is nearing September, and he must go to Ukraine.

He immediately realises that he has not contacted anyone in England about his attendance at the game. Unfortunately, he booked his ticket in his real name months ago. Since security has heightened since the last world cup, he is required to show his ticket before being allowed to enter the grounds. As soon as they say _Harry Potter_, somehow, British ministry officials escort Harry Potter to a top box and he panders to the Department heads and the Minister, whose name he does not know, and he is quickly getting overwhelmed when they ask him where he has been and what he is planning on doing, so he pretends to see a friend, and he begs them off and says he will return, but he simply _must_ say hello to someone.

The officials are polite and let him go reluctantly, seeming to realise that Harry Potter will _not_ be returning to their box.

Harry, from the top box, had spotted the Indian flag. While they are not playing at the game (Ghana vs. Japan—Ghana was a major upset against Bulgaria and everyone that had been betting on the Bulgarians has been quietly panicking), most countries display a flag so that citizens can meet up and spend time together afterwards if they didn’t get seats together. It’s a sort of meeting-place.

Harry goes to the Indian section, introduces himself as _Advait_, and then proceeds to thoroughly enjoy his conversations with a pleasant couple, Shiva and Asha. They speak Hindi, and so they chat and ask him where he is from back home. Harry, as Advait, says he’s from a village not far from Delhi—Haryana state. They laugh and scorn his Northern Indian ways. They are from the South, they say. The better part, they say.

“But you speak Hindi?” Harry, as Advait, asks. “Not Telugu, or Tamil?” 

“Tamil. But I work for the magical government,” Shiva says. “Hindi and English are required. So I made my wife learn them with me!” 

Asha laughs. “At least he can speak Hindi! His English is atrocious!” 

Harry smiles, and in English says, “If you want to practice, I know English.”

Shiva pales. “No, thank you! I’ve only really gotten fluent in Hindi recently. I will never sound as good as you native speakers, though.”

Harry smiles, feeling very proud of himself, and says, “You are doing very well, though. I guess you speak Tamil, natively?”

Asha nods. “I’ve known Hindi my whole life, though. Shiva is the one who has been struggling more. Poor thing.”

Shiva scoffs and then jerks to attention— “The game is starting!” 

The game is extraordinarily long. Asha and Shiva provide entertaining conversation, and Harry is glad to be with them instead of the British politicians.

“Oh Advait—the snitch!” Asha is the one to see it first. It is the third day of the game. Harry took the second day off—he went Saint Sophia’s Cathedral which was nearby. It swam with that strange, peculiar magic. Luckily, when he went back to the game, the guards at the security check-in point were asleep, so he was able to slip right back in without having to show his ticket and reveal his identity.

Asha and Shiva had made periodic trips to get food for the three of them. Harry would save their spots as more rowdy members of the Indian contingent would try and snatch them as soon as they stood up.

Asha had, in her tent, an extraordinarily large collection of spices and meats. When questioned, she shrugged and said that you never could know when you would be feeding an army. The curry they ate was delicious, and Harry deeply appreciated their generosity. 

Asha and Shiva smiled. “Today you, tomorrow me.” 

But Asha was the first one to see the snitch and so they are thrilled. They stand up and ignore the three little kids who steal their chairs and they scream when the snitch is caught and they hug each other and they don’t even know who won—they don’t even really _care_ at this point—someone says the scores are 3410 to 5590—and they join the happy, exhausted, elated crowd out of the stadium and Shiva invites Harry to join them in their tent for the evening. 

“We have plenty of room to spare, Advait! Then you will come with us for the celebration—Krishna Janmashtami! Govinda! It’s tomorrow – perfect timing!” 

Harry realises this is true— “I have nothing to wear though! I’ve only regular _dhoti_ and _kurta_ and trousers—nothing fancy enough for Govinda!” 

Shiva shrugs this off with a wave of his hand, “You’ll be fine. We’ve nothing too. We weren’t expecting to still be here. But we can’t spend tomorrow traveling when we could be spending it with friends.”

So they spend the next day in the campgrounds in the Indian section. Harry is introduced as Advait, Asha and Shiva’s friend from Haryana.

It is a wonderful time; happy, joyous. He is sad when the day draws to a close and he says goodbye to Asha and Shiva. He promises that he will visit them soon. He will have to take a trip to India, anyways, to visit his friends in Haryana.

For now, he still has many places to see. He feels surer of who he is. Harry knows he is Indian, he is Advait, he is a fan of architecture and history and ancient civilizations. He likes hiking, nature, food, Hindi—Harry feels he is starting to know who he is. 

But he’s not there yet—he’s not yet satisfied enough to go home. He ran out of money from the Ministry a while ago, but he has enough in his Gringotts vault to keep him going for quite some time. So he stays, even though he promised he would only be gone a year. But Harry feels that he is _so close_ to solving _something_ that he can’t go home now and lose all of this progress. 

So he plans out a European-and-Asian tour: he goes to the Royal Palace of Amsterdam (that thick, dense magic is there), the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the Leaning Tower of Pisa (which to his surprise, is only standing due to a magical cradle that is invisible to non-magical eyes), the Colosseum in Greece, the Hagia Sophia in Turkey (filled with magic), Angkor Wat in Cambodia (only parts of it are spelled with that thick magic, which confuses Harry, but he ignores this as he visually can’t tell the difference between the different sections), and then he’s off to China. 

It’s at the Great Wall of China where Harry finally understands what that strange magic does. 

He realises that in every section of the wall that is still standing, it is soaking in that fascinating magic. But in every crumbled portion? The magic is missing. And that’s when it hits him: the type of spell determines the longevity of the structure. 

He thinks back to every place he has been to that has this “longevity” magic—Chichen Itza in Mexico, although it was weak, the Taj Mahal in India, the Royal Palace in the Netherlands, Saint Sophia’s Cathedral in Ukraine, the Bandiagara Escarpment and Great Mosque of Djenné in Mali. 

Practically every continent he has visited has experienced at least some form of this magic. He didn’t notice it at the Sagrada Familia—it wasn’t there, and he’s never felt it in any more recent construction he’s been staying in. None of the magical sectors in the cities he has stayed in have this magical power. It’s only ancient things, only ancient buildings. 

But why was it lost? Why would people _purposefully_ build with an inferior method? 

Harry does not understand this incongruency. He travels back to Haryana, where Priya, and Amala greet him happily. When Harry explains he wants to work with a magical construction company, Amala says that she can’t help him, and then directs him to Navdeep. 

Navdeep sends him to his twin, Ahmed, who then says, “Alright, Advait, you’ll come with me. We’re on a site for the next couple months. You’ll help out there, and then we’ll see if you’re cut out for this sort of business.” 

Ahmed is a hard task-master, but he is an undeniable source of construction-related magic. When Harry mentions that he can feel if the spells didn’t set properly one evening, Ahmed looks at him carefully. “Advait, you gotta tell me if that happens so we can redo it,” he says. Ahmed drags Harry up from where he is sitting and apparates him back to the construction site and instructs Harry to recast the spell until it is done correctly.

Ahmed doesn’t say anything else that evening. Harry is worried that he has disappointed his friend. 

Harry walks carefully around Ahmed, casting the spells Ahmed directs him to with careful precision whenever he is told, which is surprisingly frequent. Ahmed seems to be studying Harry with a careful expression whenever Harry catches him when he thinks Harry’s not looking.

Harry worries about this for several days, until one evening at dinner, Navdeep and Amala both complain to Harry that he has to stop being so fantastic at construction because Ahmed has been talking non-stop about the quality of Harry’s work. Harry is taken aback. “But he never tells _me_ this!”

Navdeep laughs deeply. “That’s Ahmed. He’s ridiculously proud of you, Advait. He thinks you really have a talent for this. You better not start your own company. You’ll run him straight out of business.”

But Harry, while he really enjoys the work and the magic, is somewhat dissatisfied because it’s not the intense magic that he had been seeking for. Harry follows Ahmed to work for several months until one day Ahmed throws up his hands and says, “You have been literally making new things up every day for the past week and I have no idea what you have been doing. Please, explain to your lesser!” 

Harry bashfully explains that he felt that some of the spells were superfluous and that he just tweaked them a bit so that the magic would flow better—and then when he teaches Ahmed the altered spells, Ahmed’s eyes widen and he is so impressed he has to sit down. 

“Advait, you know I’ve nothing left to teach you. You’re going to waste your talents if you stay here in Haryana,” Ahmed says carefully after Harry sits down next to him. 

“But I like it here,” Harry says. 

“We like you,” Ahmed concedes. “But, Advait, you are going to make a big difference in the world. I’m talking about something bigger than whatever bad guy you beat. It’s going to be with this. You’re going to build something amazing, so fantastic people will never forget your name. Advait, I’m telling you—you gotta get out of here. Haryana is a great place, but you need to go somewhere where you can fly.” 

This is a truth that Harry has known for several weeks now. It is September, 2000. He needs to go home. He hasn’t talked to anyone from the United Kingdom since those strange politicians at the world cup over a year ago, and that was only ten minutes of literal nonsense.

It’s time to go home. Harry knows what he will do. He will build—he will find out that magic. He will figure out that magic that sets those architectural masterpieces apart from all of the others.

He says goodbye to his friends in Haryana. He stops by Asha and Shiva in Tamil Nadu, wishing them well and telling them that he is going to the United Kingdom. Asha and Shiva smile, and wish him well on his travels. 

“_Alvida, Advait_!” they say. Harry waves good-bye, and then leaves India.


	3. 2000 – 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry returns from his travels.

**III. 2000 – 2001**

Harry Potter is 20 years old, and he knows who he is.

This is not dramatic to say. He has spent the last two years in a soul-searching world tour and he spent the majority of that in the Haryana State of India. He is fluent in Hindi. He has a chosen profession and a dream. He is very afraid, though, to contact his friends. 

This is also not dramatic to say. Harry has not contacted Ron or Hermione since he left two years ago, despite promising to visit for holidays. He has been gone for far longer than he said he has been. He has no idea what they are doing, what their careers are. He is worried that they will pressure him to become something he doesn’t want to be if he meets them—to join the Ministry, like those politicians tried to do when he was trapped in their box for that short period of time at the Quidditch World Cup in Ukraine in 1999.

Harry is less recognizable, with his more traditional Indian apparel that he became fond of wearing in Haryana. He has tanned, after months in the unforgiving summer sun. The scar has faded; his eyes are still bright green. Harry decides to stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He checks in under his Indian name, Advait. 

As soon as he steps inside the building, though, he cringes. The building is practically on the verge of collapse. The only reason why it is still standing is the ample amounts of ambient magic that serendipitously flows through the building daily due to its position as the main entrance into Diagon Alley from the non-magical London. 

Harry feels immensely obligated to talk to the bartender. Harry tells the bartender that he really ought to refresh the building’s construction spells or else risk the building falling completely apart. 

The bartender just stares at Harry with confusion. “’Scuse me? Construction spells? This building’s built.” 

Harry nods in agreement. “Yes, you’re right,” he says. “But they’re wearing out, you see. Once they wear out, the building will fall apart.” 

The bartender gives Harry a blank look and says, “Sir, with all due respect, are you sloshed?” 

“No!” Harry says, slightly offended. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. But you really must get this building repaired, I promise you. Hire an architect or a construction firm, and they’ll agree.” 

The bartender sets down the glass he had been cleaning. “There’s no such thing as an architect in Britain. They all left during the war, and haven’t come back. If you know so much about it, why don’t you fix it yourself.” 

Harry sighs, “Really, I’m not licensed to work here. I don’t want to get in trouble with the law.” 

The bartender laughs. “The law? No one is going to get mad at you for casting spells no one even knows about. You better do it, or else when the building collapses, it’ll be on your head. You’re hired,” the bartender says. “Your payment will be one butterbeer, since I don’t know if you’re even doing anything worthwhile yet.” 

Harry stares at the bartender in slight disbelief. “You’re not joking, are you?” 

The bartender picks up the glass he set down and continues to clean it, all the while staring directly at Harry’s face. 

“Go right ahead, _Paki_.” 

Harry clenches his teeth. He’s aware the bartender is trying to insult him—but Harry refuses to acknowledge this. “I’m Indian, not Pakistani. I _was_ going to fix your spells, but now I think you should find someone else, or actually pay me instead of comping me some of your trash butterbeer.” 

He turns around and tries to back away from the counter but someone stops him. It’s someone familiar—he can’t remember her name. 

“Hey, I’m sorry about that guy. He’s a total arsehole. No one here likes that. Come sit with me and my sister?” she says. She’s blonde. He thinks she was in his year. He realises that she doesn’t recognise him. This might be entertaining. 

“Sure, as long as that guy doesn’t talk to me anymore,” he smiles. He follows the girl back to her table. It’s in the corner, under several _notice-me-not_ spells. Harry immediately realises how foolish he was at the beginning of his trip to confuse the powerful longevity spells for these weak charms; they’re vastly different.

“We’re right under these. We don’t like the attention,” she says apologetically. Harry shrugs. 

“I can relate,” he says plainly. She looks at him quizzically, but seems to ignore the statement and then leads him under the charm and to the table. 

To Harry’s vast surprise, he finds the girl’s sister, and Draco Malfoy—wait, _Draco Malfoy_? He certainly wasn’t expecting that. 

_Well_, Harry thinks, _let’s see if he recognises me._ He’s willing to let their past lie. 

Harry’s mind races. How does he introduce himself? He will see if Draco Malfoy recognises him first, and then—maybe he’ll try Advait? Or Harry Potter? He doesn’t know—but he knows that lying will only dig him into real wholes when he’s with people he knows so he’s decided to be honest. 

The girl sits down, and Harry takes the remaining chair. 

“Hey, sorry I took so long; this poor guy was getting bullied by the bartender,” she gestures to Harry. “By the way, I’m Daphne Greengrass. This lovely lady is my sister, Astoria. And this is her fiancé, Draco Malfoy.” 

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Harry says and, to his bewilderment, shakes Draco’s hand, after Draco extends his hand first. 

“So where are you from, mysterious stranger?” Astoria asks.

Harry smiles and sits down in his chair. “Here, actually.” 

Draco raises his eyebrow. “Seriously? Did you get home-schooled? I don’t remember you from Hogwarts.” 

Harry laughs, “Oh, I went to Hogwarts. And I sure remember you.” 

Daphne leans forward to stare at Harry closely, and then her eyes widen. “No way. No way.” 

Harry meets her eyes and smiles wryly. “I know, this is kind of funny to me.” 

Daphne falls backwards in her chair and laughs. She runs her hand through her hair, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you at first. Wow, I feel stupid.”

Astoria looks at Harry. Her eyes also brighten with realisation and she grins. “Well, I don’t think I ever spoke to you, so I can’t be blamed.” 

“No, I think you’re good,” Harry says, smiling in return. 

Draco is still sitting there, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know _anyone_ who was Indian from Hogwarts.” 

Harry bites his lip to keep from laughing—he’s been told he has a recognizable laugh. 

Astoria tries to kick Draco in the leg, but misses and hits Daphne instead. “Ouch! That was me,” Daphne says. Astoria mouths _sorry_ but she apparently retries and this time was accurate because Draco’s face crinkles up in pain. 

Astoria says, “Are you completely forgetting the Patil twins?” 

“Oh, Merlin, you’re right,” Draco groans. “But you’re not a girl—I have no idea. You can’t be anyone I didn’t like or you wouldn’t be sitting here so—” 

This breaks Harry’s restraint and he bursts out laughing, as does Astoria and Daphne. Draco looks even more confused. 

“What, it’s not like you’re Potter! He’s vanished off the face of the—oh no, you’re Potter, aren’t you?” Draco says, his face pinking, sparking Daphne and Astoria to laugh even harder. 

“You caught me,” Harry says. “Harry Potter, at your service.”

“What the hell, Potter,” Draco says. “You don’t look _anything_ like you did at school. You’ve grown a whole foot, at least. And you’re all—” Draco gestures to Harry’s general form. 

“Indian?” Astoria says. Harry chokes on his water.

Draco blushes even deeper. “Shite, Astoria, you’re making me seem racist and—” 

“Oh sweetie, you’ve dug yourself a hole you can’t climb your way out of,” Astoria says. 

Draco groans. “I’m sorry, Potter. I’m so embarrassed. You’d think I’d recognise my childhood arch-nemesis.” 

“Wow, I’m flattered. Arch-nemesis?” Harry says, “I must’ve been pretty important. I’m hurt you didn’t know it was me.” 

“You’ve changed!” Draco says in an attempt to defend himself. “You don’t look the same!” 

Daphne cuts Draco off with a wave of her hand, “Just shut up, Draco.” She turns to Harry and says, “Okay, Potter. Tell us where on earth you have _been_ these past two years! _No one_ has known anything and then randomly I find you here, of all places!” 

Harry smiles lightly. “I’ve actually been all over the earth, to be honest.” 

“That’s tosh,” Draco says. “You’ve been hiding somewhere and just got a nice tan.” 

Harry shakes his head, “Nope, it’s all true. I’ve gone on a two-year world tour.” 

“Two-years? _Alone_?” Astoria asks. “Wasn’t that lonely?” 

“Actually, no, not really. I made lots of friends. Although, I did spend a lot of time in India. That’s where I picked up these stylish clothes,” Harry says as he gestures with a silly flourish to his clearly foreign outfit. 

“See, that was why I didn’t recognise you,” Draco says. “The old Potter would never have worn something so exotic!” 

“You’re really not helping the whole ‘I’m not racist’ case, Draco,” Astoria says with a giggle. 

“No, he’s right,” Harry says, giving Draco a hand. “I didn’t have anything other than trousers and hand-me-downs from my cousin. I looked a proper fool. To be honest, I don’t know how to shop, really. These clothes are all from friends dragging me to stores when I was in India and them dressing me up like a doll.” 

Daphne says, “Okay, but you do realise that since you’re back in London, you’ve got to try and wear more British stuff, or more people will be cruel to you like that ridiculous bartender?” 

Harry twists his lips in acknowledgement. “I really don’t want to have to shop for whole new clothes just to avoid unpleasant people, you know? Besides, it’s my culture—my father’s culture. And it’s _really_ comfortable.”

“You can’t fault a man his comfort!” Draco exclaims. Somehow, he has obtained a large glass of firewhiskey and is steadily draining it. 

“You hate shopping that much?” Daphne says incredulously. 

“Yes,” Harry says. 

“So,” Astoria says. “What brings you back to Britain?” 

“I’m starting a business,” Harry says. 

“Oh, whoa—a _businessman_!” Draco says.

“He’s trying to get drunk, isn’t he?” Harry asks no one in particular. 

Astoria looks at Draco for long while with a sad look on her face. She agrees. “You must have been a very large shock to him. He’s drinking harder than he has in months.” 

Harry grimaces. “I’m sorry about that. If I could have fore-warned you, I would have.” 

Astoria shrugs. “It was going to happen eventually.” 

“Well, Draco has issues that are his own. Tell us about this business—what kind? Because I’m pretty sure that your old crowd was spouting off how you were going to become an auror or join the Ministry,” Daphne says. 

“Wait, who was saying that?” Harry asks, surprised. 

“Pretty sure it was just about every Gryffindor you were friends with. Granger, Weasley—that crowd,” Astoria interjects. “They said you were following in Dumbledore’s footsteps.” 

Harry blushes. “Oh, damn. They actually believed me when I said that.” 

“Wait, you _lied_ to them? This is rich!” Draco says. “How Potter has fallen!” 

“Oh, come off it. I’m sure he had a decent reason to lie. Which was?” Daphne prompts. 

“I have absolutely no intention of ever becoming an auror or working for the Ministry,” Harry says. “But my friends just wouldn’t take no for an answer. When I said I wanted to figure out what I actually liked, they told me I’d always liked fighting and changing the world. Which I never did out of choice—I _had_ to do those things. That wasn’t _me_. So I left. I had to figure out what _I_ wanted to do. And when I figured that out, I came back.” 

“To be honest, I’m not sure if that’s romantic or a pile of codswallop,” Astoria says. 

Harry laughs. “Me neither? But I mean, the whole story is a bit more complicated and I had some personal reasons for leaving that are private. And it goes beyond career choices. A whole bunch of things fell together, so it ending up being just the path I chose to follow.”

“Obviously it’s more complicated if it prompted you to _lie_ to your best friends,” Daphne says. “I mean, _everyone_ thought you were going to be an auror. That’s all you did during school. Fight people, argue. You were so _angry_ all the time.” 

“I was,” Harry says without any further explanation. 

“Yeah, you haven’t tried to kill me yet!” Draco adds. He’s slumped over in his chair now. He’s clearly going to have a nasty hangover in the morning.

“Neither have you,” Harry says cheerfully, in an attempt to keep up the good mood. 

This fails terribly. 

“I’m a _changed man_, Potter!” Draco shouts, slamming his mostly empty cup down. “If you can’t understand that, then get out! Don’t come in here to _my_ table and start shouting at me about how horrible I was in school! You were too! We all were! I’m not a murderer—” 

Draco trails off and Harry is surprised to see he’s choking back tears. He slumps into Astoria’s shoulder, who wraps her arm around him and begins to rub his arm. She’s whispering hurriedly into his ear. 

Harry, feeling regretful, raises his hands in a placating manner and says to the drunken Draco. “Hey mate, I’m sorry. Let bygones be bygones.”

A sombre mood has fallen over the corner table. Daphne is watching Draco still when Harry asks her quietly, “Is he okay?” 

Daphne shakes her head _no_ and says under her breath, “The past two years have been difficult for him. I’m glad Astoria has been here to help him out; I’m not sure what would have happened to him otherwise.” 

“It’s obvious he’s changed, you know. The whole time I’ve been here, he’s been courteous and kind—I didn’t mean to set him off with that. I was just teasing,” Harry says. 

“We know,” Daphne says. “He’ll know too, in the morning when his head is clear. He’ll be embarrassed so expect an invitation to a very awkward afternoon tea sometime this week.” 

Harry winces. “Can’t we just skip that part?” 

“Afraid not,” Daphne says. “It’s important to him.” 

“Whatever’s necessary, I suppose.”

They turn their attention back to the couple in the booth and watch as Astoria helps Draco stand up. As they’re about to leave, Astoria says, “We’re going to head home for the evening. It was great to see you, Potter. Let’s do this again, sometime? I’ll probably see you sometime this week for his apology tea.” 

“It was good to see you too,” Harry says. “Have a good evening.” 

“Bye, Tori, and g’night, Draco,” Daphne says. They watch the two walk out of the _notice-me-not_ shield and back into the now crowded pub atmosphere. 

It is quiet for a minute as they both sip on their respective drinks. While Harry is drinking, Daphne smiles and says, “Well, that was cheery. We got off totally off topic—what’s this mysterious thing you figured out you wanted to do?” 

“No kidding?” Harry says. “But architecture, if you can believe it.” 

“Architecture? Harry Potter, an architect?” Daphne says sceptically. 

“It’s true. In fact, you rescued me from that bartender right after I was talking to him about how the construction spells on this place are really going to the dust—speaking of which, I’m staying here tonight and I just do _not_ feel safe sleeping in this place with it like this. Even though I told the guy I wasn’t going to fix them, I’m going to drive myself insane if I have to deal with this for a moment longer. If you’ll excuse me for a second?” 

Daphne nods. Harry then pulls out his Holly wand and quickly runs through several spells that he knows will attach themselves to the four corners of the building and imbue themselves through the foundation and then seep up to the roof overnight. It takes only five or so minutes, but when he turns back he realises that Daphne has been watching him intently. 

“Merlin, Potter. You have a talent,” Daphne says. “That was incredible.”

Harry furrows his brow. “That was nothing, really. The bare minimum. It’ll just fix the building for fifty years or so before they fail.” 

“Fifty years? The bare minimum? Potter—that was _brilliant_. I don’t know about you—but I felt that magic, right?” Daphne says. “The whole building feels better now.” 

Harry perks up, “Wait—you can feel it too?” 

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure Draco and Tori can too. It’s why we like the Leaky Cauldron better than the other places since it feels the best.” 

“Hold on—this place felt the _best_? Where else have you _been_?” 

“Everywhere? The Three Broomsticks, the Hog’s Head—you name it, we’ve tried it. This place was the best by just a small margin—but now, it’s _fantastic_.” 

“But I haven’t met anyone else who’s been able to really feel the effect the construction spells have on the buildings before that’s not been in the business for months. How on earth do all three of you _naturally_ know this—I mean, what are the odds of that?” Harry is flustered. 

“I guess right after the trials, we all tried to go out for drinks. All the old crowd. But we kept going to these horribly seedy places down Knockturn. They were the only ones that would serve a large group of old Slytherins, anyways. But they just felt... unstable—like that feeling you get when you’re walking on really thin ice? It’s—” 

“Crumbly?” Harry offers. 

“Yes! Crumbly. That’s a perfect word for it. Anyways, I mentioned this to Astoria, who agreed. We tried explaining it to a couple other people but no one else seemed to understand, except Draco, who said he felt it too,” Daphne explains. “So every new place we would try, we all would stick with each other and if the place felt too crumbly, we’d leave. Eventually, we stopped going with everyone else because _everything_ in Knockturn was crumbly. So we tried the more respected pubs—the Three Broomsticks, the Hog’s Head, and here. This one was the best. We’ve been coming here since early ’99.” 

Harry leans back, thoroughly impressed. “I really can’t believe I just happened to stumble upon some of the people that can _feel_ the difference a well-cast architectural spell can make randomly. This is absurdly coincidental.” 

Daphne shrugs. “Meant to be, I guess.” 

“I wonder—do you want to try a test for me? I want to know if you can feel the difference in spells in some of these different places,” Harry asks. “They’re made with different types of magic, and no one has been able to tell the difference. Not even my teacher could.” 

“I bet we can,” Daphne says. “We’re excellent.”

“Would tomorrow be too outrageous? I want to check out the place tonight, to make sure that my idea of the building is right, and then we can try it out sometime tomorrow?” Harry asks. 

Daphne shrugs. “I’ve got nothing better planned.” 

Harry grins. “Alright then. I’ll owl you a time. If I’m wrong, I’ll owl anyways.” 

Daphne nods as she stands up and preps to leave. “I’ll see you then, Potter.” 

“Call me Harry,” he says, extending his hand. 

“Call me Daphne,” she responds, shaking it. 

After they leave the pub, Harry apparates to Hogsmeade. He can’t enter the castle grounds since school is currently in session, but as soon as he nears the gate he realises that his theory was correct—Hogwarts was built with the longevity magic. He tried to study their shape, but only managed to give himself a deep headache. Whatever the spells were, he would likely never be able to find out from any books. 

He had searched the vast libraries in several countries over the weekends when he was working with Ahmed in Haryana, but none of those searches had returned any results on the longevity spell. He doubts Hogwarts would have any results. He decides to submit an anonymous request under Advait on if he can search the library on any and all construction spells. He suspects that Madam Pince would not allow someone foreign to search her shelves and would first conduct a preliminary examination. He anticipates this will be fruitless, but he has to try. 

It is growing late at night, so Harry returns to the now reinforced Leaky Cauldron for the night, where he eagerly anticipates the upcoming test. 

His owl the next morning requests their presence in Hogsmeade at around 2 o’clock that afternoon at the Three Broomsticks (which Harry repairs before their appearance). When Draco, Astoria, and Daphne show up and enter the pub, their eyes widen only slightly—Harry would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking previously—and they make their way over to his table. 

“You fixed this building too!” Daphne says. 

“Is that what you did?” Astoria says. “Daphne says you did something similar at the Leaky Cauldron. You’re going to be an architect?”

Draco nods, looking only slightly miserable. “Yeah, the building’s nice. What on earth are we doing out here? You trying to show off?” 

Harry laughs. “No, I’m not showing off.”

Daphne nods, “I’m pretty sure you’d know if he was. He was shocked last night when I was so surprised by his ‘bare minimum’ spells.”

Harry cringes. “Sorry—I just hate being in buildings that have poor spellwork. Anyways, I thought asking you to meet me in the middle of a field was a little weird. But I invited you out here because Daphne told me you’re all able to feel architectural spells. I want to know if you can feel a certain type of them that I haven’t been able to find anyone else who can.”

“Well, show us the way!” Astoria says. “I’m down for weird adventures!” 

Draco hesitates before shrugging. “As long as this doesn’t involve anything like your old school adventures, Potter, I’m fine.” 

“Nothing like that, I promise,” Harry says. 

Harry leads the three out of the pub, out of Hogsmeade, and up to a grassy knoll that overlooks Hogwarts. It’s a spot Harry found last night where he was able to feel the longevity spells very strongly. He didn’t realise it last night, but the view is fairly spectacular. 

“Wow,” Daphne says. “This is really something else.” 

“Really?” Harry says, getting excited. 

“Really, what? I’m talking about the view,” Daphne says, gesturing to the grounds that lay in the distance in front of her. “Look at that—you can see practically all of Hogwarts from here.” 

Astoria nods. “It’s gorgeous.”

Draco agrees, but is the first to turn away from the view and look at Harry. “Okay, what are we supposed to be feeling here?” 

“There’s a certain class of spell that was used to build Hogwarts and a lot of other significant buildings around the world. It doesn’t feel like the normal construction spells, and you can feel it a long way off. It’s actually really strong right here; I’m guessing the way the magic was cast that somehow it ended up including this location. I’m thinking that this spot may have been part of the original Hogwarts boundaries,” Harry explains. 

The three concentrate. Harry watches, and feels slightly discouraged because the fact that they have to concentrate on something that seems so _obvious_ to him does not appear promising. But, Harry has to remind himself, he _has_ had training in construction magic. He _has_ been studying this for a long time. 

Astoria is the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel any magic here. It’s a beautiful spot though. I can understand why the Founders might have wanted to include it in the grounds.”

Harry shrugs from his spot leaning against a tree. “It was worth a try.” He pats the ground next to him. Astoria moves from where she was standing to sit next to him. They talk quietly with each other about magic, starting businesses, and Harry receives a standing invitation to join them weekly at the Leaky Cauldron for drinks. “I like you,” Astoria explains. “I think we could be good friends.” 

Daphne sits down next to them next. “I’m sorry, Harry. I tried to sense something, but all I managed to feel was dizzy.” 

Harry shrugs again. “It’s not a problem.” 

Astoria explains the standing invitation she has offered Harry and Daphne agrees that it’s a good idea. Her single caveat: “Maybe hold off telling Draco though, until you’ve had that apology tea.” 

Draco finally joins the group at the base of the tree. He frowns. “I’m not sure. I think I was trying so hard to feel it that I might have just made it all up. I really don’t think I had it.” 

Harry shrugs a third time. “It’s alright. I assumed that no one really would be able to really feel it when you all showed up here and didn’t understand what I was talking about right away.”

“Well, what does it feel like to you then?” Astoria asks. 

“Overwhelming? The first time I felt it, I thought it was a _notice-me-not_ that was overpowered since it just completely _blankets_ buildings. In a good way, I suppose. But it’s a dense sort of magic. It feels like you’re walking through a really humid space here, because the magic is just so thick. It’s almost as if after the magic decides you’re not a threat, the humidity lifts and instead of feeling so heavy, it feels safe.” 

“So it’s... good?” Astoria clarifies. 

“Yes, it’s good. It’s a _good_ magic. But no one knows how to cast it. No one _anywhere_ knows how to cast it. No books, the spells are indecipherable when you study them. And no one really can sense them, except for me, I guess. But it explains why some parts of buildings are still standing today, and others aren’t.” 

“Like what buildings?” Draco asks. 

“Hogwarts, for one. It’s been through a lot, and it’s incredibly old. But I don’t think anyone has ever had to do renovations on the building until the summer of ’98 because of the war. The pyramids in Egypt—those are over two thousand years old. They’re still standing and some are in great shape, while others aren’t. It’s because of this magic. Some mosques in Mali have this magic, some Incan ruins in Mexico have this magic, the Taj Mahal has it, the Great Wall of China has it in some places; so many places have it and they’re all well-known non-magical treasures.”

Daphne looks at Harry for a second and then says, “You weren’t kidding when you said you went on a world tour.” 

“Well, I got interested in ruins and ancient civilizations when I first stopped in Egypt and Mexico, and I wondered how they built things when I was in Guatemala—” Harry starts. 

“Which then spurred a multi-continental tour of architecture?” Daphne finishes. “No wonder you want to be an architect. This has been driving you for the past two years.” 

“I guess so? I mean, it wasn’t _just_ architecture. There were other things too,” Harry says. 

“It was basically architecture, we get it,” Draco says. “You don’t have to make up things.” 

“But it wasn’t!” Harry says. “I spent almost a year in India alone!”

“What did you do there?” Astoria asks. 

“Well—I mean, I _did_ work for a construction company—” Harry says, making his three companions laugh. “—but I also learned Hindi and the culture and made good friends there. It’s a second home, now.” 

“You speak Hindi now?” Daphne asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fluent,” Harry says. “When I went to the World Cup last year, I got kidnapped by some Ministry officials and escaped by hiding with the Indian fans; no one suspected it was me when I used my second name and only spoke Hindi for the rest of the time. I’m so glad I learned.” 

“Hold on a second—you _hid_ from the Ministry of Magic by speaking Hindi and using a fake name? At the _World Cup_?” Draco asks, almost giddy. 

“Yeah?” Harry says.

“That is amazing,” Draco says. “Never in a million years would I have expected that level of devotion to your cover. Learning a whole new language—I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t learn the language to hide,” Harry corrects. “I learned the language because my dad was Indian and I was never able to learn what he would have spoken as a kid. I learned it to understand where I came from as a person.” 

“I think that’s admirable,” Astoria says. “And the fact that you _can_ use it as a disguise is great.”

“I think so too,” Daphne is quick to agree. “And that you spent all that time to learn more about your family’s history is really incredible. I’d never have expected it from you before.” 

“Well, a lot changed for me after the war,” Harry says. “And I changed because of it.”

“I think that’s true for all of us,” Astoria says, looking at each of them in turn. “Good luck with your magic, Harry. Let us know how starting the business goes.” 

“Build me a house, Harry. I hate my flat,” Daphne says as she leaves. 

Harry is left alone on the grassy knoll after the three depart and return to their daily routines. He realises that building houses is a great first step. 

But first, he has a mission and it is to _solve_ this puzzle. This longevity spell will not outwit him. 

Harry purchases a fairly large plot of land on the shores of Loch Awe—he’s somehow able to convince the local municipality that he should be allowed to buy this ridiculously large amount of shoreland. 

But when he is there, he clears a small plot of land so that there is enough space for a small cottage. He then proceeds to build the foundation of what will end up being his own home, like Ahmed had taught him back in Haryana. 

But before he moves on and begins the framing of the house, though, he is determined to try every variation of every spell he has ever known to discover the secret of the longevity magic.

Over several weeks—maybe two months? He’s not sure—he tries and fails miserably. He ignores every owl that comes his way. He ignores, what he presumes, are the numerous invitations to Draco’s apology tea, which he is refusing to go to on principle that it is a ridiculous idea. He ends up, one evening, saying random phrases in Latin and waving his wand carelessly. He comes upon the idea that since this longevity magic seemed to calm once it ‘recognised’ you, for lack of a better word, that working with the concept of life and being alive would be a decent direction. 

He comes upon the solution entirely by accident.

The variation of his so-called spells varies dramatically. Some seem like decent ideas—for instance, because the architecture felt alive: “_Ego veni ut vitam dic lapidi_.” I have come to life in stone.

But that wasn’t quite correct—_Harry _didn’t come to life in the stone. Another attempt: “_Spiro vitam in stone_.” I breathe life into stone.

Or because Hogwarts felt almost sentient: “_Ad haec forma lapis in animam viventem_.” To this the form of the stone sunk into a living soul. Harry isn’t sure where he is going with that idea. 

He tries again. To give the building an eternal form: “_Hoc aedificium in perpetuum_.” The building forever. 

Perhaps something more direct: “_Semper lapis, semper solidum_.” Always stone, always solid.

Others aren’t good ideas. With exasperation: “_Quia caritas Dei, ut ea tantum sentire, sensi alia aedificia_.” Oh, for the love of God, just feel like those other buildings I felt. 

That one does not work. 

He has been practicing the spells for so long that the sun has started to set.

The sun flashes off of a puddle in the distance, which reflects directly into Harry’s eye, making him sneeze. While he sneezes, he stumbles, falls to the ground, and scratches his hand upon the stone he is casting. He rises to his feet in annoyance, realises he has cut his hand, is too irritated to heal himself, and tries the spell one last time. 

“_Lapis Structura in animo est, vivens_!” The stone structure is intended as a living thing, Harry says. 

And then—it _works_. The combination of Harry’s blood on the stone, the soil, and the wand—and, _finally_, the right combination of words. 

Like magic – _it is magic_, Harry reminds himself – the feeling of the breathing and sempiternal construction is evident and powerful. More powerful than any of the other buildings he has witnessed. Likely because this is a new spell. The newest spell that has been done of its calibre, Harry acknowledges. The magic is dense, it is the _same_—and Harry is thrilled. He has finally _done_ it. Three weeks—a _month_? He has no idea what the date is, how much time has passed. He has gone completely underground while he was working on discovery this spell. 

But he has figured it out. Harry analyses the spell, and finds that it has attached itself to only the part of the foundation he has been casting it on. He tries again. He spills some blood—and then he hurries to write down the words he spoke and when he does, he discovers blood has gotten all over the parchment, but he doesn’t even care. Afterwards, he smears his blood over several stones and then says the spell again. 

_“Lapis structura in animo est, vivens_!” 

And there it is—that swollen magic fills the air and it combines with the originally cast magic and Harry is so excited that he dances and looks around for someone to celebrate with and finds no one there. 

He remembers the standing invite to the Greengrass’s pub night; he needs to check the date, and then he can tell them his success. When he does discover the date, he comes to the irritating realisation that their pub night was _last_ night. He has to wait a whole week.

Harry pushes off this annoyance and decides that by the time he sees them again, he will have finished his home. This is an ambitious goal. With Ahmed, it took them at least three weeks to finish a home, but that was _before_ Ahmed made Harry cast every spell and that was when they had to check with the owners about every single design element—this time, it’s just Harry. 

So the week passes and the framing goes up and then the drywall goes up and the insulation is put in place and with every part, Harry casts his new spell—he’s calling it the _Living Stone _spell and he’s thinking about company names and since he’s hardly creative he’s decided on Living Stone Architecture. This makes Harry excited, so he works harder. When he’s not working, he’s jumping through the hoops and then Harry is forced to sign his name on official forms as the business owner and he hesitates for only a second before signing them as _Advait Bajwa_. He doesn’t want his company to become popular because it is _Harry Potter’s_ company. He wants it to be popular because it is a _good_ company, because it is the _best_ company. 

But pub night is approaching, and the house is undergoing finishing touches. Harry is exhausted, but decides that instead of going to the Leaky Cauldron—they should all come to his _house_. Because then he won’t have to justify his absences because he is the proof himself.

He owls them all and invites them for drinks at his new home. His letter is unintentionally vague. 

_Drinks at my place instead of at Leaky Cauldron? Floo: Advait’s Home. Cheers! HP_

His new floo address is _Advait’s Home_ (heaven forbid people think this is actually Harry Potter’s house). He’s excessively proud of this, and so in response he buys several wines and beers and goes overboard and then he makes many appetizers in his new kitchen and then he eventually gives out because he has made altogether too much food and has too much alcohol for only three visitors who hardly had time to RSVP because the invitation was only sent out the morning of Harry’s decision to host it. 

Harry realised this and so is quietly panicking that no one will show up when the floo flares—and out steps Daphne Greengrass. 

“Hi,” Harry says, awkwardly. 

“Hi,” Daphne replies. “Where have you been? You haven’t responded to any of our letters.” 

“I’ve been here, actually,” Harry says. 

The floo lights up again. Out spills Astoria. Harry is pleased to see that she is also a poor floo-er; it’s not just Harry who is so dreadful at that mode of transportation. Astoria brushes off ash and then stands up with the help of her sister and then looks around. 

“Oh, wow! This place looks great! Is it really yours? Your letter was really vague,” Astoria says.

“Yeah, it’s mine,” Harry says proudly. 

And the floo flashes a third time: out walks Draco Malfoy who is looking better than Harry has ever seen him. “Hello, Potter,” he says.

“You do know you can call me Harry, right?” Harry says after offering to take everyone’s coat. _It must be November_, Harry thinks—he was definitely absent for far longer than he anticipated. 

Draco shrugs. “Yeah, but old habits are hard to break. By the way, what the hell are these spells here? They’re so weird.”

“What spells?” Astoria asks. 

“Yeah, I don’t feel anything. Are you trying to prank Draco, Harry?” Daphne says. 

Harry turns from the coat closet and smiles so broadly his face hurts. “You can feel them?”

“Well, you’ve done something strange with the place. It’s not bad—but it’s _not_ normal,” Draco says. 

“They’re the longevity spells,” Harry says. “I figured them out! That’s why I’ve been AWOL for so long—I’ve been here, trying to discover them_ and I did_!” 

Daphne is surprised. “Congrats, Harry! That’s great.”

Astoria adds her congratulations. “It’s a house-warming party! We should’ve brought gifts!”

Harry shakes his head. “No gifts necessary.” 

Draco is still looking around carefully. “Well, then maybe I actually _was_ feeling something at the hilltop you brought us too. But why can I feel this stuff here and not over there? It doesn’t make sense.” 

Harry tells everyone to follow him to the kitchen where there’s chairs and explains, “These spells are brand new. The ones at Hogwarts are over a thousand years old—they’re still pretty powerful but they’re less in-your-face, I guess. You’ll get used to them pretty quick. It is a little disorienting at first though, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about it—I totally wasn’t expecting this but it’s fantastic.”

“The weird feeling _is_ going away slowly,” Draco says. “That’s really impressive. You came up with that all on your own? How long did that take you? And where did you find this house? Where is it, actually?” 

“Give us a tour!” Astoria says. 

Harry offers them their choice of drink and lets them pick over his excessive food options. Daphne laughs at Harry when he explains that he was anxious so he cooked all day. 

When they all have eaten a bit and chosen a drink, Harry leads them on a tour. He takes them from the kitchen into the dining room, from there into the sitting room, then the living room. A small office and half bath finish the ground floor; the first-floor features two guest bedrooms and a master suite. The entire time, they entertain him with their dramatic sounds of appreciation. 

“But the best part,” Harry says, “is the view.” 

He takes them outside and then they all stand there and look at the lake, the trees, and the mountains in the distance. 

“So, where are we? Scotland, right?” Daphne asks. 

“Yes,” Harry confirms. “This is Loch Awe. I’ve a ridiculous amount of land on this shore, and quite a bit that spreads up the hillside behind us. About 10 kilometres? I’m planning on keeping a large part of it private but some of it for development; maybe establish a wizarding community, you know.” 

“That would be brilliant,” Astoria says. “I know a lot of people who are tired of living in London, or in the cities. Not many wizarding communities are outside the major cities anymore. How much would one of your homes be?” 

“I’d guess 61 or 60 thousand Galleons?” Harry says. “That’s what a comparable non-magical home costs in these regions.” 

Draco whistles. “That’s a steal, Potter. You could be charging at the bare minimum 300,000 Galleons for this—this spellwork alone—it’s priceless.” 

“It’s true. You’ll be totally undercharging your homes if you use that as a starting point,” Daphne adds. 

“But I want these to be affordable,” Harry says. “I don’t want them to be exclusive to only wealthy individuals.” 

Draco shakes his head. “They won’t be—you’ve been gone a long time, Potter. There’s been a lot of inflation. The Galleon has gone down—it’s about 2:1 instead of 5:1 to the British Pound. Someone thought it would be a good idea to just make more Galleons when the economy wasn’t doing very well after the war.” 

“Hasn’t anyone paid any attention to non-magical history?” Harry asks. “The exact same thing happened in Germany in the early 1900s. It’s called hyperinflation. They printed more money to pay off their debts but that didn’t work.” 

Daphne shrugs. “Clearly no one who decided it was a good idea.” 

Harry sighs. “So about 150 thousand would be comparable to non-magical houses, then? You want me to charge _double_ that?” 

Astoria, Daphne, and Draco all nod.

“Your product is worth so much more,” Daphne says, “because of your longevity spells and the quality of construction. No one will ever have structural issues in one of your houses, and so the price ought to reflect that.” 

“What did you end up naming the spell?” Astoria asks. 

“That’s not important, Tori,” Daphne says. 

“I’m curious!” Astoria says. 

“It’s the Living Stone spell,” Harry offers. “Trade secret, I’m afraid. My company, Living Stone Architecture, is open for business by the way. I take commissions,” he jokes. 

Draco looks at Harry until Harry makes eye contact with him. “I want to commission a house,” he says to Harry’s surprise. “I’ll pay you 400,000 Galleons for one exactly like this one—except have Astoria style it, your style is atrocious.” 

“Hey!” 

“I’m teasing—but I want it on this stretch of land. Lakeview. Far away from you, though. Merlin—I’m seeing far too much of you as it is and I’m still not totally okay with that. By the way, you are coming to my house _tomorrow _for my apology tea and I don’t care if you think it’s stupid. It is how things are done,” Draco says. Harry nods. 

“I want it done before May. That’s when our wedding is. I want you to _not_ hide yourself away like you have these past two months. That’s not healthy. I don’t care if you use your alter-ego name when you go out in public to avoid the mobs, but you’re _not_ going to hide away anymore. You’re a decent person, Potter. You deserve to see sunlight. People like you. Astoria likes you, Daphne likes you, and Merlin forbid, even I might even tolerate you but I can’t decide anything until _after_ the apology tea _tomorrow _that you are coming to. Are we clear?”

“As crystal,” Harry says restraining a smile. 

Draco nods definitively. “Good.” 

Astoria looks at Draco. “Did you just buy a house in front of me? That we are _both_ living in? Without consulting me?” she asks sharply. 

“Oh, shite. Is that a problem?” Draco asks. 

Astoria grins. “It’s fine.” 

Draco relaxes. “You _have_ to stop doing that to me.”

The next day, Harry is summoned by Draco himself to attend his apology tea. 

“I figured you wouldn’t show up unless I dragged you to it,” Draco explains as he pulls Harry through the floo. He lands in an entry way that clearly has been decorated by someone with a fondness for the colour orange.

“I like the paint,” Harry says. 

“Oh, shut up. You don’t. Tori and I were arguing about paint choices, completely disagreed, and then we decided that no one should be happy so we made it orange,” Draco explains as he guides Harry to a sitting room that looks much more respectable. 

“Why did you decide on orange?” Harry asks. 

“Neither of us like it _or_ look particularly good in it. We also wanted to shock Astoria’s parents when they visited for the first time. We pretended to love the room and spent far too long gushing over the orange furniture. Astoria’s father just gaped at us like we were lunatics on drugs,” Draco says. “They were very relieved when we showed them the rest of the flat.” 

Harry laughs. “Is that why you want Astoria to decorate the place? No more orange parlours?” 

Draco tilts his head in a so-so manner. “Partially. It also just makes her happy, which I’m all for. Wedding planning is frankly horrible, so if this can take her mind off of it, the better. Decoration is her favourite. Seating arrangements and deciding who would be insulted the least if we didn’t invite them to the wedding is _not_.” 

“I can’t imagine doing that,” Harry says. He picks up the cup of tea Draco offers. He notices that Draco’s cup has the words “I’m Sorry” written on the bottom. He holds back a guffaw and turns it into a single cough. 

“Personally, I think we shouldn’t invite anyone except for people we actually like, but weddings aren’t for the people getting married. They’re for everyone else,” Draco says. 

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Harry agrees. 

“What about Indian weddings? Are you planning on having one?” Draco asks. 

“To be honest, I wouldn’t mind one way or another. I figure whatever makes my partner happy would make me happy,” Harry says. “I’ve no real attachment to Indian weddings. I only attended one when I was in India and I didn’t speak Hindi well enough then to really appreciate what was going on.” 

“Well, now that you know Hindi you can go to one again and re-evaluate? One of the Patil girls is getting married—the Gryffindor one,” Draco says. “You’re probably invited.”

Harry shakes his head. “No invitation, so probably not.” 

Draco looks confused. “But you were in her house. Why wouldn’t she invite you?”

Harry doesn’t know. “I wasn’t really close with many people. I wasn’t exactly the most pleasant person to be around during school?” 

“Oh, really?” Draco says, “I find that hard to believe. You had a whole posse of friends who were deathly loyal to you. Where are they now?”

Harry sighs heavily. “Yeah, to be honest, I’m not sure. Everyone wanted something from me, and I just didn’t have anything left to give, I guess. I was tired of that.”

Draco nods. “I wasn’t really the most pleasant person either.” 

“But you had reason to be—” 

“And you didn’t?” Draco interrupts. “We both had a whole lot of reasons to be unhappy, but that doesn’t really justify how cruel we were to one another.” 

“It was a long time ago, and I know you changed—”

“Please, let me finish. I need to say this,” Draco says earnestly. “I am sorry, Harry. I am sorry for what I did to you in school. I mean, my dad was a Death Eater, and my family was being threatened. Lord Voldemort _lived in my house_—I was miserable, scared, and honestly, I could have reached out for help. But I was scared and I didn’t—but that doesn’t justify my behaviour and I am sorry. I am sorry for the pain and the deaths I have caused.”

“I had Lord Voldemort living in my head,” Harry says quietly after a moment of silence.

Draco is taken aback. “What?” 

“A piece of his soul lived in my head,” Harry repeats. “He lived there, and he made me angry and tired, and I lashed out and I fought everything and I refused to accept other people’s opinions and I refused to believe that anyone other than myself could be right. But the fact that a piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul lived in me doesn’t justify my behaviour—so I am sorry. I am sorry for almost killing you, for causing you harm and pain, and anything else I may have done to you over the years.”

“Merlin—Harry, you can’t be blamed for that—that was completely out of your control—” 

“And what happened to you wasn’t? You didn’t _choose_ to have an evil man live in your house! You didn’t choose to have your family be threatened! You didn’t choose to have your father pressure you to become something you were scared to become!” Harry says. “It does justify your behaviour. Yes, what you did was wrong. It was wrong, and it _did_ cause pain and suffering, but you were just a kid. You were a kid and the people you were supposed to be able to trust _let you down_. You did the best you could with what you had—and when you had a chance to break free of that influence, you became someone you can be proud of.”

Draco shakes his head. “No, no, no—I did choose to be a Death Eater. That wasn’t something I could be forced to do—” 

“But what was the alternative? Death? If faced with that sort of choice, I think most people would have done what you did,” Harry says.

Draco sits there for a long while. “What I did in school is not who I am, and I know that now. But I want you to know I deeply regret all of the decisions I made, despite the fact that they were made under the heavy influence of outside forces.” 

“I forgive you. I hope you can forgive yourself,” Harry says. “And I hope you can forgive me.”

“What the hell are you talking about—you were _possessed_ most all of school? How on earth did you even defeat the guy?” Draco asks incredulously.

“No, no, no,” Harry says quickly. “I wasn’t possessed. It’s complicated—dark magic, I really shouldn’t have mentioned it, but I did—but, uh—I guess, the simplest way to describe this is that when he cast the killing curse at me when I was a child and it rebounded was that it shattered Voldemort into two pieces? And that one of those pieces attached itself to the nearest living thing, which was me. But I was strong enough to suppress that piece of him. Not strong enough, though, to completely prevent attributes of Voldemort’s from seeping through—like the aggression, the parseltongue, the anger; how I liked fighting, how I was always overreacting to little things and never believed anyone else could be right. None of that was me—”

“So when you said that you left for personal reasons and that you wanted to figure out what you liked—it’s because you honestly had _no idea_?” Draco asks. 

“I’m honestly surprised you remembered,” Harry says.

Draco shrugs. “I made Astoria recount the entire evening the next day to make sure I wasn’t going crazy.”

“I mean, yeah. After Voldemort died completely—and through other weird circumstances—the piece of him that was in me—he was in the scar, if you wanted to know—my whole personality changed and—I really had no idea what I wanted to do. I just knew I didn’t want to fight anymore.”

“So then what explains this ridiculous height you have now? You were always short,” Draco asks.

“Magic? I guess I used up a lot of my magic to block out that piece of Voldemort, and so when it was removed it was able to fix up a lot of me that wasn’t really right—like my height. I guess my body figured preventing Dark Lord possession was more important than height? So when it was gone, about six or so months later I went through a massive growth spurt. And ever since then I’ve been able to notice magic a lot more easily,” Harry says.

“Just how powerful _are_ you? Who on earth holds off possession for what—sixteen years? —and _still_ is a powerful wizard?” Draco asks. 

“Some random witch in Egypt told me I could compare myself to any great wizard in history and I’d probably measure up to them,” Harry says dismissively. “I think she was a little crazy though.”

“She says _any_ great wizard in history?” Draco double checks. Harry nods. 

“_Merlin_—Harry—you could be as powerful as _Merlin_ and could measure up. That’s what she’s talking about. She’s not just referring to the boring wizards—she’s saying the _great_ wizards,” Draco says. 

Harry looks sceptical. “I think we’ve gotten a bit off topic. I was trying to apologise.” 

“Oh, well I’d forgiven you for that a while ago. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered to invite you to apology tea,” Draco says. “This is far more important. You’re as powerful as _Merlin_.” 

Harry winces. “Please don’t go telling people.” 

“I’m telling Astoria, who’s going to tell Daphne. That’s all,” Draco says. “You are now going to be my friend so I can tell people when you die that I was friends with the second-coming of Merlin.”

“Oh my God, please tell me you’re joking,” Harry says. 

“Not a single bit,” Draco says. His demeanour has completely changed since he decided they would be friends. He’s relaxed his posture and has a more open stance in his chair. “I’ve changed too—I’ve decided I spent far too long caring about what people thought about me and I’m over trying to filter out the stupid things I say unless they’re racist and even then, sometimes I fuck things up—please tell me if I’m being racist I’m trying very hard not to be. It’s hard when your parents were racist arseholes who never worked a day in their lives—sometimes I slip up, you know?”

“You were _never_ racist during school,” Harry says. “I was Indian the entire time.”

“Oh, but you were too easy to make fun of in other ways,” Draco smiles. “You were the _boy-who-lived_—I mean, come on, who came up with that?”

“I feel the same way,” Harry drawls. “Please, don’t remind me.”

“I’ll try to restrain,” Draco says.

This is how Draco and Harry reconciled their differences. Draco decided that Harry would be his friend, and Harry was too kind to tell Draco that this was _not_ how you usually made friends, but he figured that Draco actually was nice now. His apology _had_ been sincere, and he wasn’t trying to make excuses. Harry did tell him that he _had_ excuses, but Draco refused to accept that.

And then Harry surprised himself by telling him about the horcrux—without so many words, of course, but he feels lighter now, after knowing someone actually understands the whole picture. He never would have believed it would be these three people, but in a way, it fits. They are the three Slytherin outcasts, who did not feel comfortable with the rest of the Slytherins after the war. And he is the Gryffindor outcast, who did not feel comfortable with the rest of the Gryffindors after the war.

Together, they make a pleasant group of friends.

Astoria and Draco plan to be married in May of 2001. During the months beforehand, Harry works with Astoria to finish their cottage. It is larger than his own; the furnishings and fixtures are nicer than his own, but it is delightfully understated. Harry is there when Astoria and Draco bring Astoria’s parents to the construction site. He meets them, and finds they are kind but strict parents who were lucky enough to have stayed neutral during the conflict. Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass like Harry, and invite him over for dinner. He accepts the invitation. Draco and Astoria make fun of him for being a suck-up. 

As their wedding date drew closer, Harry found himself spending far more time with Daphne than the couple. He enjoyed spending time with her and they found they had a similar sense of humour. She was bright, funny, and knowledgeable enough to actually enjoy listening to Harry ramble on about the latest issues with his other clients at Living Stone Architecture. Daphne rescues Harry from attending the dinner with the Greengrass parents alone. 

The business is slowly gaining traction. He’s building several houses for individuals. He introduces himself to the owners as _Advait Bajwa _and speaks with an Indian accent. This prevents them from confusing him with Harry Potter. Eventually, though, Harry feels he will have to start taking more serious measures to protect his privacy.

However, Harry is thoroughly surprised when Draco asks him in February to be his best man; he agrees but admits he didn’t expect this. Draco is somewhat abashed but says that Harry is basically his only friend—other than the girls. 

“It’ll be a small bridal party,” Draco says. “Astoria says didn’t want to decide on which of her friends to offend by not inviting, so she chose to only have Daphne as a bridesmaid, but honestly, it’s because I don’t have anyone else I’d want there with me.” 

Harry is flattered. “Well—shite, I have a lot to do. Do you know what you’re wearing yet? Anyone you want at a stag do?”

Draco considers this. “Honestly, I’ve no clue what we’re wearing. I’d talk to Astoria. And for the stag do? I guess I can think about that and let you know.” 

“Oh, shite, this means I have to give a speech, huh?” Harry says.

Draco grins. “As Harry Potter. Sorry!”

Harry goes to meet with Astoria a few days later to talk about what they’ll be wearing. Astoria looks flustered when Harry shows up at her apartment, but when Harry asks about the grooms wear, her stress quickly turns to relief. “Draco finally asked you? Thank Merlin—here, I need you to decide. He’s being completely ambivalent and all I need is someone with opinions. Wizard-wear, or Muggle-wear? I’m leaning Muggle-styles—I’ve always wanted to wear one of their white wedding dresses.”

“I like suits more than dress robes,” Harry offers.

“That’s decided,” Astoria grabs a list off of their kitchen table that is completely covered in papers, magazines, and colour swatches, and crosses something off. “Grey or Black?”

She shows him two different fabric swatches. They look nearly identical. Luckily, she fluttered the swatch that matched each colour so he knows which goes with which. 

Knowing Astoria needs opinions and not someone who doesn’t give a damn (which, unfortunately, includes him), he points at one at random, “The grey.”

“Tuxedo or suit?” Astoria asks. 

“Tuxedo?” Harry says. The two pictures he was shown look very similar, except one has a bowtie instead. He hasn’t worn a bowtie before. 

“Tie colour—tell me what you think,” Astoria says. She lays out several different paint swatches and Harry picks one at random. 

“Perfect! Wow, that is absolutely _perfect_. You’re brilliant. I don’t know why you say you have no fashion sense. You’ve literally just saved my wedding. Okay, now go give Draco this list,” she pushes a piece of paper into his hands. “And he’ll know what to do. You go with him. We’re paying. Now go away, I’m swamped.” 

Harry is dismissed and so he goes back to Draco. The note, apparently, is a reprimand and a command to go get fitted for the grooms wear Harry randomly selected. 

When Draco is actually pleased with the result, Harry feels proud in his choices, despite it all being completely arbitrary. Draco announces that Harry is “brill” and that he’s decided that instead of a stag do they’re going to get completely drunk a week in advance, just the two of them, so that they won’t get into trouble and that any hangovers will be long gone by the time of the wedding. Harry’s relieved this requires little work from him. He offers to host the night at his house. Draco is quick to agree, noting that he would have showed up there anyways. 

Soon, it is May, and the day of wedding. Harry never ended up seeing the final guest list, but he knows it is large. This is the first time since 1998 that Harry Potter will be seen in public in the United Kingdom. He’s dreadfully nervous—though Draco certainly has him beat for nerves. He’s practically shaking on the morning of, and Harry has to talk Draco out of running by describing how embarrassing it would be for him to have to explain to everyone that Draco left. Draco admits this would be humiliating, and that Harry would likely do a horrible job of it, so he builds up his courage, and then the wedding starts.

Harry did not anticipate the sheer _size_ of the crowd. When he accompanies Draco to the altar through the side door, he is impressed with the size of the church, and its decorations are subtle but he cannot deny Astoria has done a wonderful job. 

Mrs. Greengrass arrives, followed by the officiant, and then the music starts. Then Astoria and her father make her way down the aisle. She looks stunning. Harry has no idea what kind of dress she is wearing, except for the fact that it makes her look beautiful. She is followed by Daphne.

When Astoria reaches the altar, Daphne takes her bouquet; Draco takes his place by her side, and Harry smiles at the two sisters. They are stunning. Draco is beaming—any nerves he might have had are completely gone. 

The officiant speaks for a while; Harry doesn’t pay attention. He can feel the ring box burning a hole in his pant pocket but he watches the expressions of love on Astoria and Draco’s faces as they continue to look at each other, ignoring everything else. 

Astoria’s father gives her away to Draco. They share their vows, and then Harry hands the wedding bands to the officiant. He takes his seat, as does Astoria’s father. 

The rings are exchanged, their marriage is blessed; they hold each other hands and a spell is cast that is a more of a wish than any real magic for happiness in the years to come. 

Astoria and Draco sign a registrar, as do Astoria’s parents. Harry and Daphne sign as well as their witnesses. Astoria has her bouquet returned, and then the newly-weds exit the church. Harry offers his arm to Daphne, and they follow their exit. 

They’re sharing a carriage—and inside of the expanded space, Astoria and Draco are kissing amorously.

“Ah! We have to be in here too!” Daphne shrieks, covering her eyes. “My eyes!” 

Astoria bursts into giggles, “Oh boohoo—it’s my wedding day. I’ll kiss my husband as much as I like.”

Harry goes to shake Draco’s hand but he’s pulled into a hug. “Thank you,” Draco whispers into his ear. 

“Congrats,” Harry smiles. “Thank you from saving me from complete embarrassment.” 

“What embarrassment would_ you _be facing today?” Daphne asks. 

“If Draco didn’t show up, I’d have to explain to everyone what happened,” Harry says. 

“And he would do a horrible job!” Draco crows. “I had to save him the embarrassment.”

“Oh, and _I_ had nothing to do with it?” Astoria prods Draco’s stomach. 

“Completely nothing,” Draco says sarcastically, grabbing her hand. 

They chat until they arrive at the reception, when they all make their way to form the reception line. “This is my least favourite part,” Daphne admits before the guests arrive. 

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You’re telling me? I can only _imagine_ what this will be like.” 

“Well, I don’t think anyone _really_ recognised you in the church,” Astoria says. “This is going to be entertaining.”

Harry groans, but Draco smiles broadly. “This time, you get to embarrass yourself and it’s all your fault!”

“I prepared for the speech, at least,” Harry says.

“Sure, you did,” Daphne says, rolling her eyes.

To their relief, the reception line is mostly full of the Greengrass parent’s friends, who are fond of the tradition. Most of the younger individuals seemed to skip the line and head to the drinks—which suits Harry fine.

None of the adults seem to pay Harry any attention, but instead lavish their adulations upon Astoria and Draco. Daphne and Harry are politely greeted, and then promptly ignored. They pass the time talking quietly.

Before long, it is time for the meal—and the moment Harry has undoubtedly been dreading. His speech goes last; so he sits and waits for his turn.

Astoria’s father speaks first.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming today, to celebrate the marriage of my beautiful daughter to this decent young man. Isn’t she beautiful today? Astoria, I’ve never been prouder to be your father. I don’t think this marriage has come as any surprise to your mother and me. You were five-years-old when you met Draco for the first time, and when you and your sister came back home, the first thing you said was that you were going to marry him one day,” he says to the laughter of everyone. Astoria blushes. “And to be frank, I’m not at all shocked to find out that you did. Draco is a great young man, and I am happy to welcome you into the Greengrass family. You have grown up admirably and I am proud to call you my son-in-law.” 

The crowd applauds. Draco smiles and mouths a thank you. “I’d like to propose a toast,” her father continues. “To the happy couple!”

Draco stands up next and gives Astoria’s father a hug. “Thank you. I’m so lucky to have gained such a wonderful family today. First, I’d like to thank everyone for coming, and for your kind gifts. We really appreciate the time you have taken out of your busy lives to come celebrate with us.” 

Daphne leans over to whisper in Harry’s ear, “That is _such_ a lie.” Harry bites back a laugh.

“I want to thank the Greengrass’s—Talia and Lane—for their generosity in hosting this lovely reception, and my parents, for not showing up,” Draco says brightly, although his last phrase meets a shocked response from the crowd. Astoria’s laughter comes out more as a cough due to her attempts to cover it up.

“Sheesh, tough crowd,” Draco says. “Thanks, Tori, for laughing. You always appreciated my horrible sense of humour. She looks stunning today, don’t we all agree?” 

The crowd applauds their agreement. “I’d also like to say that Daphne, the maid of honour, is also looking lovely. And Harry, my best man—he’s managed to fix his hair for once. Thank you, I couldn’t suffer the embarrassment if it looked like it normally did. A toast for the lovely bridal party! Without them, we’d have gone insane!”

They raise their glasses amid the whispers that had risen when Draco mentioned his name. 

“Lastly, I want to raise a toast to my new in-laws. Thank you for being so supportive of our marriage. To many happy future years as family!”

They all drink, and then it is Harry’s turn. Daphne whispers, “Good luck!”

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. If you haven’t recognised me, I’m Harry Potter, and I’m Draco’s best man. I’d first like to issue a huge thank you to Tori’s parents for their wonderful job setting this party up. Can we just have a huge round of applause for Astoria? Doesn’t she just look absolutely breath-taking? 

“I’d also like to thank everyone that’s been working hard making sure that everything has been running smoothly today—and I’d like to thank all of you for coming out here today to share in this special occasion with the bride and groom. Everyone seems to be looking like they’re having a wonderful time, and I’ve received word that Draco’s going to be dancing a solo later this evening—”

“No, I’m not!” Draco shouts amid laughter.

“Well, I’ve said it so it has to be true,” Harry says. “I have special authority as your best man. I guess if you knew either Draco or me during our years at Hogwarts, you’re probably a little surprised to find me in this position. To be honest, I’m still a little surprised. But I can’t possibly be happier. Draco is my best friend—and I am proud to be called his best man.

“But since we were school-yard rivals when we were kids, I have _far_ too many embarrassing stories to tell about him, so I had to work very hard with Astoria to narrow it down to one that we decided wouldn’t _permanently_ damage his ego.

“This one, happened actually the first time I ran into Draco after school—”

“Oh, God—no!” Draco cries to the amusement of everyone present.

“I had just come back from a long trip and had stopped in the Leaky Cauldron for a butterbeer, when I ran into Daphne, who invited me to sit with her and her sister. However, she didn’t know it was me at first, and to be honest, I had completely forgotten her name. Since we both were in this ‘we should know each other, but we can’t remember each other’ stage, we just mutually agreed to sit together, and so I followed her back to her table. Waiting there, was Astoria... and Draco.

“Now, we were—as Draco likes to say—_arch-nemeses_ during school. So, as a proper arch-nemesis would do, I immediately knew it was Draco Malfoy who was sitting across from me. After a second or two, Daphne and Astoria figured out who I was, and I knew who they were as well—but Draco? He had _no idea_.

“He first asked me if I had been home-schooled—and here I was thinking, dear Merlin—have I _really_ changed _that_ much? I didn’t have a beard or moustache or anything! But he went on to tell me that I _clearly_ did not go to school with them or he’d know who I was.”

Draco groans loudly.

“When I told him that I very clearly knew who _he_ was, he then concentrated very hard and then said—_but I don’t remember anyone who was Indian at Hogwarts_.” 

This gets a ridiculous amount of laughter, and Draco buries his head in his arms. Harry laughs, “I just stared at him blankly. Astoria wisely mentioned the Patil twins—who were twins in Draco’s year. They were just two of the—what was it? _Seven_ total people with Indian heritage at Hogwarts in our year alone? Not to mention me? Your _arch-nemesis_?” 

Draco buries himself further into the tablecloth in shame.

“So then, with a final shameful stab, Draco then said that I couldn’t possibly be anyone who didn’t like him at school, because otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting there.

“I couldn’t take it any longer. I burst out laughing. Here was Draco Malfoy—the kid I fought with almost religiously in school practically _every single day_ and one—he didn’t even realise the whole seven years we went to school together that I was Indian, and two—I clearly didn’t even make that much of an impression on him to be even partially recognisable two years later. 

But it got worse. Draco then said: _What? It’s not like you’re Harry Potter._” 

This makes the whole crowd burst into laughter. 

“He understood immediately once he said my name who I was. He was so embarrassed he got completely drunk and started rambling about how you can’t fault someone for wearing comfortable clothing,” Harry says, smiling. “He pestered me for _weeks_ afterwards to go to his famed ‘apology tea’ and—and the rest is history. But it just goes to show how little the past matters to Draco. He’s a new man—he’s a better man. I’m proud to know Draco. And we’ve been the best of friends ever since.” 

Harry smiles. “I’ve been able to watch Astoria and Draco and their relationship and I know how strong it is. They love each other, and I am so grateful to have been a part of their special day. They are both dear friends to me, and I look forward to the years we have in front of us, and to the years they have together as a married couple. I wish them every happiness in the future. To the new Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!”

The crowd applauds and toast the new couple. Draco stands up and gives Harry a hug. “You bastard—I’m never going to live that down.”

“It’s your fault for making me talk,” Harry says, smiling. 

The rest of the evening is spent in laughter, music, and dancing. The night is almost over, when a strange man in a uniform comes up to Draco and Astoria when Harry and Daphne are talking with them.

“Hello, sir,” Draco says, extending his hand. He shakes the stranger’s hand. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” he says in reply. “I was surprised to see Mr. Potter as your best man. I hadn’t realised you two were friends.” 

Draco stiffens. “We’re private people, sir. We didn’t feel it was necessary for public knowledge.” 

The man shrugs, and turns to Harry, his entire demeanour changing. “It’s very good to see you, Mr. Potter. The entire world has been wondering where you have been. You didn’t mention anything about what you had been doing during your _speech_. Why was that?”

Harry is taken aback. “Because it wasn’t about me? It was about Draco—this is _his_ wedding. It’s not about me.”

“Well, that’s not what the papers are going to report on,” the man says.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Harry says. 

“Oh, excuse me, Mr. Potter. I’m Auror Donovan Hughes. I’m Mr. Malfoy’s parole officer.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Well then, Auror Hughes—you realise this _is_ a wedding? It’s supposed to be a joyous occasion.”

Auror Hughes grins. “Oh, but you see, I’ve decided to create the final terms of Mr. Malfoy’s parole sentence. A wedding gift, you could say.”

Draco shifts uneasily. 

“Is that so?” Astoria says quietly. “What is it, then?”

Auror Hughes turns to look at Draco. “In order to end your parole, you must work under Mr. Harry Potter for a period of ten years. Once those ten years of employment under Mr. Potter have been fulfilled, you will have completed your parole sentence and can be considered a rehabilitated citizen of the Ministry of Magic.” 

“Ten years?” Astoria asks, shocked. “That’s three extra years—he was supposed to be done in 2008—this means he won’t be off until 2011.” 

Auror Hughes grins maliciously. “Well, I don’t like it when people pretend to be friends with celebrities and make up fake stories to sound good.”

“That story wasn’t fake,” Harry says. “I can prove—"

“Drop it, Harry,” Draco says. A depressed look washes over him. “It’s not worth fighting. Alright. Do I have to continue to check in with you biweekly?”

“I think every other month should do. You will have _Harry Potter_ watching your every move—if you’re friends, this is a blessing. If you’ve been lying—well, this is a curse,” Auror Hughes laughs before walking away.

The four of them stand there in horror. “Mother of Merlin—Draco, I am so sorry,” Harry says. 

Draco wipes his eye. “It’s fine—it’s fine. I’m fine. Is it alright if I go on my honeymoon, _boss_?” 

Harry flinches. “Don’t call me that. I’m _not_ your boss. I’m your _friend_. I wasn’t lying—you’re my best friend. This hasn’t been a hoax or anything—don’t let that guy make you doubt it all. Go on your honeymoon—forget about all of this, and we can talk about it when you get back, okay? I’ll figure something out.” 

Astoria wraps Draco in a hug. Daphne puts her hand on his shoulder. “He knows this isn’t your fault. He’s just lashing out. He only had 7 years left of his parole, and now his whole sentence has been practically started over.” 

Harry sighs while Daphne leads him away. “I just feel so horrible—if I wasn’t here, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.”

“Don’t talk like that, Harry. Draco _wanted_ you here. We all wanted you here. You’ve made Draco so much happier these past months—it’s been so _obvious_ to us. You’ve been the best friend he’s had in ages. He’s best friends with Astoria, but what you two have is something completely different—it’s more brotherhood and a mutual understanding that you both had to do shitty things and that you can recover from that. He _needs_ you to be his friend. You don’t get to pretend what-if you weren’t around. You don’t get to do that,” Daphne says angrily. 

Harry thinks on those words for the rest of the night. The remainder of the reception has a soberer feel to it, but then they wave Astoria and Draco off for the evening—and then, the wedding is over.

* * *

Donovan Hughes is a respectable auror. He is the parole officer for thirteen “ex-Death Eaters” even though he _knows_ that means absolutely nothing nowadays. He is absolutely _sickened_ by what he saw at the Malfoy wedding. He wonders how much money it cost Malfoy to pay Harry Potter off to give such an elaborate speech, pretending to be his “best friend.” 

He walks into the Ministry on Monday morning after the wedding, and runs into the office. To his vast surprise, there were no articles about the wedding whatsoever. There must have been no press about the wedding, after his threat. All that money, he thinks, was wasted—the whole purpose of Harry Potter’s speech was foiled because of his intervention. This, he thinks, is a good thing. He doesn’t want people thinking these Death Eaters can actually reform. Once bad, always bad. 

Donovan Hughes is at the office for several hours before he sees out of the corner of his eye one of his co-workers, the esteemed Ronald Weasley. He’s never had a reason to talk to him before, but what he saw on Saturday certainly can be considered reason enough. Ronald Weasley will surely want to know what his true best friend is being paid to do, and what his punishment will be. 

Donovan runs out of the space to catch up to the taller man. “Oi! Weasley! Wait up!” He shouts.

Weasley turns around, looks at Donovan in confusion, but waits. “What’s up?” He asks.

“How long has Harry Potter been back?” Donovan asks once he’s caught up and Weasley starts walking again.

Weasley stops dead in his step. “He’s _back_? Where did you see him?” 

Donovan barges straight ahead. “Yeah, he’s back. He was at the Malfoy wedding on Saturday—I think he was bribed to pretend to be Malfoy’s best man for good press. But once I changed Malfoy’s parole requirements to work for Potter for ten years, they didn’t release any articles about the wedding, so it must have scared them off.”

Weasley stares at Donovan in obvious confusion. “He was at a _wedding_ on Saturday? _Here_? In _England_?”

“Well, Scotland, if you want to be technical,” Donovan says. “But yeah, he was. Said he’d been best mates with Malfoy since last year.”

“_Last year_?” Weasley repeats.

“That’s what I said,” Donovan confirms. “You need a hearing test? I know someone who does them for free.” 

“I hear you just fine—I just don’t understand,” Weasley says. “Harry said he’s been best mates with _Malfoy_ since last year and he was at their wedding in Scotland on Saturday—and you know this because you _saw_ and _heard_ him say this?” 

“Yeah, I was wondering if this was accurate or not—because you’re his _real_ best mate, everyone knows that,” Donovan says. 

Weasley shakes his head slowly. “This is the _first_ I’ve heard of Harry being back in _three_ years, Hughes. I guess I _clearly_ am _not_ his best mate after all.”

Weasley stalks off down the corridor, and Hughes watches him go, slowly coming to terms with the fact that his conspiracy theory may have in fact been wrong. He shakes his head, though, dismissing that thought. He’s _never_ been wrong about Death Eaters, and Weasley was just trying to protect Potter’s privacy. What a good friend. Donovan wishes he had friends as loyal as Weasley.

* * *

Harry receives the howler Tuesday morning. It is red, it is flaming, and it is not pleasant. It screams, as howlers tend to do, so that is not what is unusual about the message. What is unusual is that it is in the voice of Ronald Weasley.

Of all of the people Harry expected to scream at him, he never anticipated it would be _Ron_. He had anticipated it might have been Hermione, maybe Ginny—Molly Weasley, even. But never _Ron_. 

But when he makes out the words, he begins to understand.

_Someone told me today that you have been back home for over a year. What the bloody hell, Harry. I thought we were your friends—why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me? We’re your real friends, and now you’re being _bribed_ to be friends with _Malfoy_ of all people? Best mates, huh? That’s what I heard? What happened to everything we did for you over the years? You can’t just decide we’re no longer worth the time of day. Talk to us, Harry. _Now_._

Harry, instead of talking to Ron, talks to Daphne.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says. “Ron sounds so _angry_ with me.” 

Daphne sighs with exasperation. “Well, what did you expect? You’ve been back for almost a year now, and you haven’t spoken to them once. He had a point—I’ve no idea what you three did in ’97 but it was obviously very difficult. They risked a lot for you.” 

“I know, and I’ve just completely shut them out,” Harry says.

“And why did you do that?” Daphne asks. 

“I was scared,” Harry says. When Daphne gestures for him to continue, he elaborates, “I didn’t want the pressure of being someone they thought I was when I didn’t want to be that anymore. Not talking to them was easier than a rejection.”

“Harry, if they reject you, then it doesn’t matter because you have your own friends now. Just go talk to them. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“They could kill me?” Harry says.

Daphne just scoffs and says, “Owl them, then meet them. Just _don’t_ invite them to your house. Go to their territory. Make sure you still have a safe place to retreat. Be smart about it.” 

And so Harry arranges to meet with Hermione and Ron a few weeks later in June. They invite him to their home—a quaint flat in London that makes Harry’s skin ache because the building is so poorly built (Harry refuses to fix anything unless this meeting goes well). 

Harry is invited in by, to his greatest surprise, a _house-elf_. He hasn’t seen one of those in years—anyone on parole is forbidden to use one, so none of the Greengrasses or Draco have any. But before he thinks he is at the wrong house, he realises that this house-elf is Winky. _They must have hired her_, he thinks as she leads him into the sitting room. This is confirmed by the fact that as soon as the clock strikes 5, the house-elf perks up, then disappears, abandoning his half-poured tea. Luckily, she set the teapot down before leaving. Harry holds back a snicker, and finishes pouring his tea. 

He waits only a few more seconds before he hears the door open and a bustle of clothes and in storms the combined chaos of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. They’re carrying several parcels of foodstuff. Hermione’s eyes instantly well with tears, and she rips Ron’s bags out of his hands and hurries down a hallways he didn’t notice before. Ron takes a few steps into the sitting room, biting his lip. 

“Hey,” Harry offers, standing up as well. They stare at each other for a long time, until Ron breaks—he’s crying and then walks forward and then they are hugging each other—and then Harry realises he’s crying as well.

“Don’t you ever bloody leave us like that again,” Ron says, stepping out of the hug to shake Harry’s shoulders and then wiping his eyes hastily. Harry does the same.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. “I’m sorry.” 

“Merlin, Harry—why did you do that to us?” Ron says.

“I was scared,” Harry says.

“Scared of what?” This is Hermione’s voice—wobbling with grief. She’s standing at the entrance to the room almost accusingly, but her trembling frame betrays her faux anger.

“I was scared,” Harry repeats himself. “Hermione—I’m so sorry.”

Hermione hugs herself. She’s also trying hard not to cry. “You hurt us, Harry. You never wrote, you never visited—you never _came back_ when you said you would and we almost had given up and thought you _died_ when we find out from a stranger that you were at a _wedding_?” She says. She’s upset, but she’s angry too—and she’s not going to forgive until she’s let out her anger.

“I know, I know—I messed up, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s no real excuse—I don’t have any excuse, but let me explain? Maybe you can try and understand why I was so afraid?” Harry asks, hoping for the chance to ask for Hermione’s forgiveness. He had not anticipated how _important_ this would be to him. Seeing Ron and Hermione so heartbroken had broken a hardened piece of himself and he couldn’t keep an aloof pretence any longer.

She twists her expression painfully, blinking back tears. “I want to forgive you, Harry, but I don’t like it when people leave. Ron was gone only a few months—you were gone _three years_.”

“She’s right, mate,” Ron says. “Not that what I did was okay, but three years is a long time without anything. Even a postcard—a small note saying that you’re alive would have been nice, sometimes.” 

Harry closes his eyes and sits back down on the settee the house elf had led him to initially. “I messed up,” he admits. “I really did. And the only reason I have was that I was scared.” 

“But what were you scared of? We’re your _friends_—or at least we _were_, at one point,” Hermione pleads. 

Harry shakes his head in despair, “It’s complicated.”

“I think out of anyone, we’re capable of understanding complicated,” Ron says. He sits across from Harry with Hermione at his side. 

Harry rubs his forehead. “Oh God—alright, _bhainachod_,” he swears under his breath. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to do this at all.

“We’re waiting,” Hermione says, furrowing her brow as she tries to understanding what Harry just said in Hindi, not realizing it was a different language. 

“Okay, I’m just trying to figure out where to start,” Harry says. “But I guess—I left because I felt a whole lot of pressure from everyone—not _just _you two, but you two were part of it, I guess. You wanted me to join the aurors, or go back to Hogwarts, and I didn’t want to do either of those things—please, don’t interrupt, I know you probably think that isn’t true, but it’s definitely what _I_ felt was true, and if I keep getting interrupted, I’m never going to finish this story,” he says, cutting off Ron and Hermione’s words of protest at his comments. 

They nod bitterly. Harry continues, “I felt pressured to be something I didn’t want to be. With Voldemort gone, my whole _purpose_ for being alive was... gone, almost. The prophecy was fulfilled, and I could finally live my life the way I wanted to. But the thing was, with everyone pulling me every which way, as their hero and ‘savior’ and wanting me to be an auror, or go back to school, or do this and that—I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t know if what I wanted to do was what I had practically been told to do or what I had set myself up to do in the case that Voldemort was still around after school was finished, which was to become stronger so I could be alive. But he was gone now, so I could reconsider my options. And since he was gone at such a pivotal point in my life—everyone wanted something from me. My attention, my endorsement, my name. But no one really seemed to care what _I_ wanted anymore. And I wanted to be left alone, you know? I never liked the attention, but I had more of it than ever before. You know that, you know how it was those couple months after the battle. I was being mobbed anywhere I went. I couldn’t figure out if what I was doing was what I liked or what I was told to like.” 

“Harry, you never told us any of this,” Hermione says hesitantly when Harry stops to take a breath. “We were worried about you—you had _changed_ so much since the battle. We thought that you needed to be doing something to distract you—it’s what all of the experts on recovering from traumatic experiences suggest.”

Harry sighs. “And I’m not saying that they’re wrong. I might have had PTSD, but I _didn’t_ have it as bad as you thought—” 

“Harry—you were _completely_ different! You didn’t laugh at the same jokes, you didn’t react the same when we would tease you, you never argued back with someone when they were _clearly_ wrong, it just wasn’t you!” Ron says.

“No—that’s the thing you’re not understanding,” Harry starts. 

“We _do_ understand—that’s PTSD. You felt guilty _constantly_ and you were blaming us for your issues, you didn’t enjoy the same activities, you couldn’t sleep at night because you had bad dreams, you were on edge all the time around us, you purposefully avoiding anyone talking about the battle. That’s _textbook_ PTSD, Harry. _Textbook_,” Hermione says. 

“No—no, just—let me finish what I was saying—” Harry says.

“Harry—you’re probably still suffering from it, and that’s probably why you were so scared to come _back_ to England—that’s why you were gone so long, oh Merlin, it’s all making so much more _sense_,” Hermione says. 

“I don’t have PTSD!” Harry exclaims. “I changed because the horcrux was removed!”

Hermione and Ron still. It’s quiet, until Ron speaks up, “Harry—you had to _die_ for that to happen. If that doesn’t qualify you for PTSD then I don’t know what else could.” 

“Merlin, you’re not understanding it!” Harry says angrily. “It had affected—” 

“Please, don’t get angry with us,” Hermione interjects. “We just want the best for you.” 

Harry stares at them with blatant confusion. They are so _insistent_ on their PTSD explanation—just as they were three years ago—that they refuse to see the reason for what it was. Yes, the whole horcrux removal _was_ traumatising, but he knew it was coming and had mentally prepared for it. 

He was guilty because he didn’t know how to tell his friends he didn’t know how to explain that who he was as a person had fundamentally changed. He was blaming them because they _were_ pushing him into a career he didn’t want. He didn’t enjoy the same activities because he had apparently never enjoyed them in the first place—that was the influence of the horcrux. He didn’t sleep at night because he was trying to figure out what to do with his life and it was the only time he was alone. And bad dreams? Everyone had bad dreams. He was on edge at the time because they were constantly attacking him about his future, and he avoided talking about the battle because who the hell wants to talk about a battle where he _died_ and then wakes up a completely different person?

He doesn’t have PTSD. He loves Ron and Hermione. He loves them _dearly_, but he can’t understand why they weren’t letting him explain himself. Harry just sits there in bewilderment. If he tries to explain again—they will think he is denying the PTSD charge. If he lets it go—they’ll think he was accepting the PTSD charge. There is no way to win here. 

So he sits there in silence until they say something else. He’s not going to respond—let them think what they will. Silence is better than an actual agreement, he thinks. So he will not respond. 

Hermione softens her posture. “We care about you, Harry. We want you to be well. Please, I’ve a list of names that you really ought to consider visiting for some help.”

Harry takes the slip of parchment from her hand half-heartedly. This is no victory. 

He stays there for as long as is socially acceptable. They ask him what his occupation is (_of course_, Harry thinks), and Harry responds vaguely. He doesn’t want his name attached to his company. He is almost positive they would tell someone, but he doesn’t want them to think he is doing _nothing_ so he says he’s working on “spell development” which makes Hermione brighten. When she inquires on details, Harry says that it’s “classified for now” and that makes Hermione beam—“so you _are_ working for the Ministry!” and Harry doesn’t correct her. Whatever they want to think, he understands now, will be what they believe. 

They part, on somewhat better terms—in reality, it is poor terms for Harry, who feels hurt that they would not _listen_ to what he had to say; in Hermione and Ron’s opinion, they feel optimistic about their relationship. Together, they decide that they will have to meet up sometime soon. They will owl each other, Harry suggests, about open times. 

But Harry feels confident that he will not have any available dates in the future. He will write standard letters in response to their own. They will be vague, uninteresting. But Harry is certain that he will rarely meet up with Hermione and Ron again. He will always dearly love them—but he was hurt by this meeting. He was hurt by their assumption that he simply _must_ have a mental illness. Although, Harry muses, the horcrux technically _was_ a mental illness—this makes him laugh momentarily when he thinks that he was just misdiagnosed, but then his mood turns dark again.

No matter who it is, it hurts to not be believed. But, then again, a part of him is quietly glad that only Draco knows about the effect the horcrux removal had on him. This same part is quietly glad that he didn’t have to try and find a way to introduce his old friends to his new friends and that he doesn’t have to mediate the disaster that would be. It is also quietly glad that he wouldn’t have to make a choice at that hypothetical scenario of choosing who to support—because he would shatter his old friend’s hearts by aligning with his new. This way, at least, he can maintain some contact with them. They think he’s involved in top secret work at the Ministry—their ideal job for him—and this way he can pretend he is on business trips whenever they want to meet with him—this will work out. He can make everyone happy this way, or so he hopes, at least. 

When Astoria and Draco return from their honeymoon, Harry is waiting for Draco to come over one morning with a piece of parchment in front of him. It lists their options for Draco’s new parole requirements.

Draco shows up through the floo and shouts out a greeting and makes his way to the kitchen.

Harry nods hello, and passes over a cup of tea his direction. Draco murmurs appreciatively before asking, “What’ve you got there?”

“Our options,” Harry says. “I’m guessing your parole officer wasn’t joking at your wedding.” 

Draco sighs. “He wasn’t, I got an owl the day after. It’s been made official and everything. Am I to trim your shrubs, oh great employer of mine?” 

Harry scoffs. “No, you’d do a horrible job,” he says. 

Draco grins wryly. “I probably would. But seriously, what am I doing? It has to be something _real_, too. Not some fake job. I’m not going to take advantage of you like that. I’ll be your chef, your property manager—you name it, I’ll do it. Whatever you want.” He goes on to rattle out a list of jobs that grow ever more preposterous.

Harry shakes his head. “No, no. I’m not going to make you do anything like that. I was thinking about asking you to join me at Living Stone.” 

Draco pauses in his diatribe after saying “personal water closet attendee” and gapes at Harry. “You’re pulling my leg.”

Another shake of the head. “No, I’m dead serious. You’re able to sense all of the spells. I think you’d actually do really well,” Harry says. “And I could use another person. I’m getting more commissions than I can handle on my own.” 

“But—I don’t want to intrude on your business—this is _your_ passion. I don’t want to destroy its reputation by including an ex-Death Eater. If I mess something up, you’ll end up looking bad,” Draco says. 

“I’m pretty sure you’ll do fine,” Harry says. “And I’m already writing out a privacy contract all customers have to sign before we work with them—the business is getting too popular and I don’t want anyone to figure out who I am. That way, your whole sordid past won’t affect anything.”

Draco nods slowly.

“I’ve also thought about the whole employer-employee thing. I don’t think that would work well for us. If you come into the business—you’ll be a partner, a co-owner. Technically, I’ll be the one paying you, but we’ll be making all the decisions about the company and its direction together. It’ll be _our_ company,” Harry says.

Draco is so surprised his eyes water. “Harry—Harry, you can’t do that. I don’t deserve that, I can’t be... your business partner in this,” he protests.

“Well, it’s either this, or, what was it? My personal water closet attendee?” Harry says.

Draco is overwhelmed. “Merlin, Harry—you’re too generous. You’re _too_ generous, you can’t just give half of your company away to people just because you like them. You don’t even know me, hardly. I could cheat you out of it—” 

“But you won’t,” Harry says. “You won’t do that, because I _do_ know you. I know who you were, I know who you are, and I know who you are still going to be. You’re my best friend, Draco. I know you. And I want to do this for you.” 

“Daphne told Tori you reconciled with Weasley, though. Wouldn’t you want _him_ as your partner instead? They’re your real friends,” Draco insists.

Harry chokes. “She said _what_? Merlin—no. Hardly. They didn’t listen to a thing I had to say and they believe the same story they’ve been telling themselves for the past three years. That I’ve had PTSD so bad I ran away from England and from them and I’ve only now just recovered enough to return. They didn’t listen to me when I tried to explain that it wasn’t it so I just gave up. I’m letting them think whatever they want about me—they don’t _know_ me anymore. They know who I was. You know who I am. You’re a real friend,”” Harry says. 

“I can’t talk about feelings this early in the morning,” Draco says. He looks around the kitchen, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Harry. “I have to talk with Astoria about this, you know.” 

Harry nods. “Go tell her now. I need you back here in an hour though. Today’s your first day.” 

Astoria is thrilled, and so Draco joins Harry at Living Stone Architecture as Harry’s partner. The company is split evenly between the two of them, after they sort out the necessary paperwork (Draco laughs when he sees that it officially belongs to _Advait Bajwa _and not Harry Potter) and then it is official. Living Stone Architecture belongs to the both of them. 

Draco is a quick study in the architectural magic. He’s not as sensitive to the magic as Harry; he doesn’t have quite the same instinctive flair for it as Harry does, but Draco is competent and whatever he lacks he makes up for in determination. 

When Harry shows him the Living Stone spell, Draco is amazed. He tries to cast it, and finds he is completely exhausted afterwards, unlike Harry. Draco is smart enough to start carrying blood replenishing potions and pepper-up potions with them whenever they’re at a stage where they use their spells. 

They make all future commissions require a privacy contract. This only stops a few commissions from going through, but they still have far more than they can handle. They create a waiting list, and so their business is successful.

Harry is happy. He has good friends, he has enjoyable work. His life is good.


	4. 2002-2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a family falls apart and another falls together.

**IV. 2002 – 2005**

Astoria is painting Daphne’s nails one evening in the summer of 2002 when, suddenly, Daphne’s hand clenches dramatically, Daphne huffs angrily, and Astoria misses her nail and paints Daphne’s knuckle instead.

“Holy—what’s going on?” Astoria says. “You were fine just a second ago.”

“That was _before_ I saw him,” Daphne mutters, forcing her hand to relax. Astoria pulls out her wand to spell the paint away.

“Saw who?” Astoria says. She looks over her shoulder and sees her husband. “You’ve got an issue with Draco?”

“Not him, Harry!” She whispers.

“What did Harry do?” Astoria asks.

“That’s the _problem_,” Daphne says. “He’s not _doing_ anything.”

Astoria understands immediately. “Oh—want me to talk to Draco about it?”

“Merlin—no, he’s not discrete at all,” Daphne says. 

“Men don’t understand discrete,” Astoria says. 

“Whatever,” Daphne dismisses. “I’ve been obvious with how much I like Harry—we spend so much time together, you know. We’re always paired up when we do things, all four of us, right? But he’s been entirely oblivious. He’s not interested in me, so I’ve been _trying_ to get over him but the problem shows up bloody everywhere because he’s best friends with your husband, and he’s friends with you _and _with me! Tori, set me up with someone, please!”

Astoria looks at Daphne sceptically. “I’m pretty sure Harry would be interested if you just _told_ him you were,” she says.

Daphne shakes her head. “Yeah, probably—that would be too easy, though. If he’s _not_ interested though, it’d be awkward and I really don’t want to wreck our friendship over something like that because then family reunions would get _super_ awkward because you know how Harry gets invited over to every single thing nowadays because Mum and Dad have practically adopted him.”

“It is very strange,” Astoria admits, “how much Dad likes Harry. But I guess I can understand your hesitation. Just let me ask Draco—he’s not going to tell Harry anything, I promise you—if he’s interested. If not—I’ll set you up with someone you don’t know.”

“Thank you,” Daphne says, looking relieved. Astoria nods dismissively as she casts a spell to finish off Daphne’s nails. 

“There,” she says. “You’re all done, and looking lovely.”

“Who’s looking lovely?” Draco asks. Harry is behind him.

“Daphne,” Astoria says. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Draco looks at Daphne and nods. “Yeah, but you look better,” he says.

“You have to say that, sweetie,” Astoria says. “Harry, isn’t Daphne looking lovely?”

Harry sits down, looking confused. “Yes? Is this some sort of test?”

“See!” Astoria says brightly to Daphne. “There you go—problem solved.”

“Oh, shove off. No it’s not,” Daphne says to Astoria. “But thank you, Draco, Harry.”

Harry shrugs as Draco waves a dismissive hand and then begins to tell a story about how they met their first competitor today at the job site.

“They’re calling themselves Archie’s Arches,” Draco laughs. “How pathetic is that?”

“It’s nice alliteration,” Astoria comments in an attempt to be positive.

“It’s bad news, is what it is,” Harry says. “Competition means that we’re going to have to start increasing our speed or they’re going to attract everyone off our commission waiting list. We’re building too slowly.”

“How on earth are we supposed to speed up though?” Draco asks. “We’re going as fast as we can already.”

“We’ll have to try experimenting,” Harry says. “It’ll take more time in the beginning, but we’ll make it up in the end.”

“Damn,” Draco says. “It’s hard enough as it is. Do we really need to use the spell at every step? Maybe just once at the end—do you think that will work?”

Harry pauses before agreeing. “You might be right. Let’s try that out with the next house we’re on, okay?” 

“Sounds good,” Draco says before turning to his wife and sister-in-law. “But enough about work—how were your days?”

“They were fine,” Astoria says. “We painted our nails.”

“You’re making it sound like that’s all we did when that’s not true at _all_,” Daphne says. 

“Oh, really? Do tell,” Harry says smiling.

“We read the newspaper—” Daphne begins. 

Harry’s laughter brings her to a stop. “What’s so funny?” She asks. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just—reading the newspaper is a noteworthy addition?” Harry asks. 

Draco laughs as well. “You do have to admit, Daphne, it does look bad.” 

Daphne sighs. “Tomorrow. We’ll do something _tomorrow_. It’s a holiday today, you know. You weren’t supposed to be working.”

“We weren’t working,” Harry says.

“We were making things out of rocks and sticks,” Draco says, “like manly men.” 

It is Daphne’s turn to laugh—“Were you trying to build the shed _again_?”

Harry confidently answers in the positive.

“We’re trying to use _primitive_ methods. No magic, no tools—just our hands,” Draco says. 

“It’s a lot harder than it looks?” Harry offers. 

“It’s a _shed_—it’s just a roofed place. You literally just have to make some form of shanty,” Astoria says. 

“We wanted it to be fancy,” Harry admits. “With stucco and bricks—like some of the ruins I saw in Africa.” 

“That requires a kiln, though, we learned,” Draco adds. 

“Which requires fire,” Harry continues. 

“Which we don’t know how to make without magic,” Draco finishes. 

Astoria and Daphne look at each other and burst out into more laughter. “You spent all day trying to figure out how to make fire?” 

“Yes,” Harry says. 

“We didn’t figure it out,” Draco says.

“We’ve decided we’ll stick with magic,” Harry concludes. 

Later that week, Harry and Draco try to use the Living Stone spell only at the completion of the house build, and they are pleased to see that it was successful. It is weaker than the homes where they use the spell repeatedly, but it is still strong enough for Draco to notice, which is all Harry needs to consider it a wild success.

The two of them go out for drinks that evening to celebrate. “ Astoria asked me something weird, the other day,” Draco says. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks.

“It was confusing—but I think she wants to know if you like Daphne,” he says.

“I like Daphne,” Harry says. “She’s nice.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told her,” Draco says. “She was frustrated with that response. Not sure what else she wanted. Your favourite socks or something? I’d tell you to ask her, but I promised I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Oops?” Harry laughs. “Did she really think we keep secrets from each other?”

“I guess? I mean, I did from other people—but I tell you everything,” Draco says. “You just understand things.” 

Harry smiles into his glass and hums his agreement.

“I think she wants you to date her,” Draco says several minutes later, breaking the silence.

“That right?” Harry asks.

Draco nods as he takes a swig of his drink. “I can’t see it, personally. She’s like... your sister, if I’m seeing it right.”

Harry nods. “I like her—and I feel bad that she’s interested in me, but I don’t like her in that way. To be honest, though, I’m honestly not sure if I even _can_ like anybody. I haven’t fancied a girl since the whole horcrux thing,” he admits as he gestures wildly to his head. 

“Don’t tell yourself shite like that,” Draco says, looking hard at Harry. “You’re perfectly normal. It’s fine not to be interested in a girl that way. Are you interested in blokes, then?”

Harry considers this, then shrugs. “Not sure. I haven’t really thought about it, so I guess not.” 

“Could be some weird suppression thing from your crazy relatives,” Draco says. 

Harry shakes his head. “The only things they didn’t like were magical,” he says. “So no—no childhood suppression, I’m pretty sure.”

“That’s fine,” Draco says, “I guess you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

Harry fiddles with his glass. “Yeah, I’m not worried. They’ll turn up.” 

When Draco goes home that night and tells Astoria that Harry doesn’t want a romantic relationship with Daphne, Astoria sighs. “Now I have to find someone decent to set her up with,” she laments. 

She sets her up on a date with a friend named Louis Therrien. Their date goes well, but Daphne tells Astoria that they won’t be seeing each other again, that Louis introduced her to someone new, and that she really likes this new person.

A few weeks later, Daphne tells Astoria that she’s now officially dating the person Louis introduced her to are now dating. Astoria says that they have to meet him and invites them over—but every time, something comes up, and their plans fall through.

It is several months into 2003 when they finally get meet Daphne’s partner. It is the first time Harry had been the one to officially extend the invitation. It is the first positive response anyone has received from him—and it is when they learn his name is Wesley Myers. Perhaps it is because Harry decided to send the invite through an owl, but he cares little about _why_ it was accepted—more about the fact that it finally was. He is curious about this Wesley Myers. When Harry has seen Daphne, she carefully avoids all conversation about the man, insisting that she wants him to be able to introduce himself. They think this is odd, but Daphne has been happy—and they are happy Daphne is happy. 

Astoria and Draco arrive well before the dinner is to start in order to help prepare. They make their best meals—they want to impress this elusive Wesley Myers. Draco jokes with Harry before Wesley arrives that “Wesley’s name is dangerously close to Weasley”, and so he feels that he “mustn’t like the bloke on _principle_.”

Harry shoves Draco’s shoulder and tells him he’s being a fool, that he’s probably nice, and they should be supportive of Daphne. Daphne is happier than they’ve ever seen her—which is true. Draco laughs and says that Harry should speak with a fake accent—which makes Harry snort because his impressions are thoroughly atrocious.

When Wesley Myers arrives with Daphne, Harry shakes his hand and welcomes him to his home. Wesley does an awkward “my God—you really _are_ Harry Potter, it _wasn’t_ a joke” dance for a few minutes which makes Harry extremely uncomfortable before Wesley finally realises Harry is a normal person.

Dinner proceeds as expected. Their first questions are about his work—why has he been so hard to meet? They find that Wesley works for the Ministry, to both Harry’s and Draco’s silent disdain. Wesley says his work is largely insignificant, but he’s very busy. He continues that he’s not sure why he’s doing what he’s doing and that he wants out of the Ministry—unless the Ministry can change. He’s willing to work on anything new and upcoming. He wants something _revolutionary_ and _ground-breaking _to happen.

They realise quickly that Wesley is speaking only to Harry. He ignores everyone else at the table—including Daphne. It is disturbing—and what it really sounds like is that Wesley is trying to overthrow the government—or replace the government, with Harry as its leader or king or _something_. His radicalism is almost frightening. Harry looks at Draco. Draco is also looking aghast, and when he makes eye contact with Harry, both silently agree that this man is _not_ welcome in their company. They don’t understand if they’re seeing a version of Wesley Daphne doesn’t know—but looking at Daphne, she seems completely composed; as if this is typical behaviour and not unusual at all. She even sometimes seems supportive.

Harry tries steer the conversation elsewhere (whenever Draco and Astoria try, they are ignored)—to foods, literature, theatre, art—but no matter his efforts, Wesley ricochets back to his desire for a _new society with talented heroes_ _at the helm building something new out of the ashes of filth_. Harry can tell Draco is starting to lose his temper because every time Wesley says filth he looks straight at Draco—and this is starting to irritate Harry as well. Daphne is even _nodding her head in agreement _and Harry can’t understand what is going on, and so the next time Wesley starts to mention this same refrain, Harry interrupts him.

“Sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here. If you’re trying to impress me because I’m famous, it’s not working,” Harry says, fishing blindly for _something_ to get the man to stop.

This leaves Wesley stammering and Daphne stiffens from her chair on the other side of the table. “Harry! For Merlin’s sake—why did you say that?” she says. She’s very uncomfortable. She clearly didn’t expect Wesley to be _called out_ for this behaviour.

“He’s clearly trying to tell me he hates the way the world is and wants me to change it, isn’t that right, Wesley?” Harry asks calmly. “Of the _ashes of filth_?”

Wesley prevents Daphne from presumably agreeing by placing a hand on her arm patronisingly. “What’s wrong with that? Don’t _you_ hate the way the world is?”

Harry raises his hands in a show of peace, refusing to raise his voice. “Honestly, I don’t. The world is much better than it was when Voldemort was around. I think we’ve made incredible progress. I’m sorry if I offended you, but I’m just saying what I thought. If that wasn’t your intention, please, correct me. But you kept bringing the conversation back to your desire to overthrow the government, when I was moving on to other topics, so I felt it was best to address what I thought the issue was,” he says. His voice is steady. He impresses himself with how calm he feels here—this man does _not_ matter to him. He does not _care_ what Wesley thinks of him.

Wesley takes a sip of his drink. “Your conversation choices are dull and uninspiring,” he says boldly. “I wanted to know what you really thought_. _I want you to know that there are real people who support the idea of a new movement to create _real_ change in the world; to change the government from the inside out. We need you as our figurehead.”

“So was that was this was?” Harry asks. “You come here, not in an attempt to get to know your girlfriend’s family, but to try and _recruit_ me for a revolution?”

Wesley has the audacity to shrug. “Yes? I thought you would be an advocate for change. To be frank, I didn’t realise you were _weak_—a fool who just lollygags out here with scum because you believe in their _redemption_.”

“Just _who_ are you calling scum?” Harry asks, his voice deadly. He doesn’t care what Wesley thinks of himself—but he’ll be damned before he lets his friends get disparaged.

“Them,” Wesley says, gesturing. “That Death Eater and his wife—once bad, always bad.”

Draco inhales sharply, tightening his grip on his fork and knife while Astoria drops her own with a clatter. Daphne looks horrified.

“That’s Daphne’s sister and brother-in-law. Her _family_,” Harry says slowly. “They are _good_ people. People I love and respect.” 

Wesley laughs. “Really, Harry? You _really_ think that? Are you sure you’re not under a spell—Daphne come on, babe; you agreed with me about this—”

“You _agree_ with him?” Astoria says weakly. “You think we’re _scum_?” 

“No, no,” Daphne protests. “That’s not what I think—” 

“Don’t lie, Daphne,” Wesley says softly, _tenderly_. It is sickening. “Just say what you need to here and then we can go back home.” 

“Wesley, please,” Daphne says quietly. “Not now.” 

Wesley sighs. “Alright,” he says. He turns to face Harry one last time. “I’m giving you an opportunity. You’re wasting your life away not doing anything worthwhile. Daphne told me you’re just playing out here building things—but you need to actually make a stand and change our world for the better. You are _blind_ if you don’t know that you have a responsibility to this country that you are not fulfilling.” 

Harry pounds his fist on the table and stands abruptly. “Get out,” he says coldly. “You don’t get to waltz into my house to insult me, my friends, and my choices.”

Wesley exhales heavily. “If that’s the way it has to be,” he says dramatically. “Just know we will always take you, Harry, if you change your mind, but this is the last time we will extend the invitation. _You _are redeemable. Your so-called friends however,” he trails off suggestively. He tosses his napkin down on the table. “By the way, your food was horrible,” he adds while pushing his chair back with a wretched screech. “I suggest a house elf. _We_ actually are allowed one. I think it’s best we cut ties with _this_ family, Daphne. We don’t want the scum to spread, don’t you agree, love?”

Daphne looks at Wesley helplessly, then makes desperate eye contact with Astoria who shakes her head sadly and says quietly—miserably, “I’ve always loved you, Daph.”

Daphne hesitates, making eye contact with Draco and Harry in turn—but Draco’s eyes are empty, and Harry’s are closed off. Then she stands, and then she turns to Wesley’s waiting, outstretched hand.

“We love you, Daphne,” Draco calls out quietly, before they leave the room. Daphne turns her head—she’s crying, tears streaming down her face hideously; she’s sniffing and it’s ugly and raw—but she doesn’t let go. She follows Wesley. 

And so Harry watches as Daphne walks out of their lives.

The three remaining sit there silently, unable to fully comprehend what just happened, long into to the night, long after the food went cold.

It is Harry who moves first. He guides Astoria and Draco to his guest room. He tells them to stay as long as they need. He goes downstairs. He vanishes the dishware, the silverware—everything on the table. He’s crying at this point—his sister. His _sister_—and so he vanishes the entire table.

It is late, but he knows he should try and contact Daphne’s parents, to let them know what happened—that Astoria and Draco have been essentially cut off from Daphne. 

Harry floos to their house. To his massive surprise, Lane Greengrass is awake in his study. He takes one look at Harry and grasps the severity of the situation immediately. 

“What’s gone wrong?” he asks. “Should I get Talia?”

Harry nods and is given a hanky for his nose while Lane goes upstairs. They also have a cottage Harry built—Harry insisted after becoming good friends with the couple; it was a surprise gift they received when they returned from holiday. They were thrilled, overwhelmed, but it made Draco and Harry both happy to have done something for the two kind parental figures in their life.

“Harry? What are you doing here so late?” Talia asks after Lane returns with her in tow. She walks up to Harry and gives him a hug.

“We just saw Daphne,” Harry says after they sit. 

“How is she?” Lane asks. “We haven’t seen her in some time. This mysterious boyfriend is taking up all her time.”

Talia agrees. “It is unusual for her. Usually she’s happy to introduce us to them. Of course, we were slightly disappointed when we found out the two of you weren’t dating, but we understand that you can’t force what isn’t there.”

Harry closes his eyes for a second to prepare himself before speaking. “We met her boyfriend. His name is Wesley Myers—and,” Harry pauses, trying to search for the right word to use. 

“And?” Talia prompts.

“Merlin—I don’t know how to say this. He’s—he’s horrible?” Harry says in a questioning tone. “He only came over to our dinner because I was hosting it. He wanted me to join him in overthrowing the government and become the leader of his new radical monarchy or something—and when I told him that I wasn’t impressed he called me weak and that I had a continuing obligation to Britain I wasn’t fulfilling. He _hates_ Draco, and hates Astoria by association. Says that there’s no redemption for ‘his sort’ and that they’re the filth of society. Apparently Daphne’s different from them despite being related to them,” Harry continues before pausing. “She was _defending_ him when I argued with him—and then, when he left and said he wouldn’t be back—she went with him.”

Lane and Talia listen with their typical attentiveness. When Harry finishes his recounting, Talia takes a deep breath. “So—so Daphne is lost?” 

“I guess you could say that,” Harry says. “When she left it was with the assumption that they were cutting ties with her family.”

Lane looks at the ceiling. “Does she _believe_ this man? What did she look like when he was talking?” 

“Sometimes supportive, I suppose. But not at all like it was unusual,” Harry says. “She was shocked when I called him out.” 

“Oh, our poor baby girl,” Talia says. Her facial expressions would be humorous in any other instance, but Harry knows they are merely the efforts she is taking not to break down. “How did Astoria take the news?”

“Poorly,” Harry says. “The only thing she said to Daphne was that she loved her. Right now, she’s in my guest room with Draco.” 

They are interrupted—an inauspiciously timed owl arrives and taps on the sitting room window. Lane stands to retrieve it, and then pronounces what they had expected, “Daphne.” 

Harry lets Lane and Talia read the letter. He assumes the contents are not promising when their faces drop. Lane unexpectedly is the one to cry first. “I never would have believed this would happen,” Lane says. “Astoria and Daphne were so close.” 

“Thank you, Harry, for the warning. This would have been devastating to receive without forewarning,” Talia says. She hands Harry the letter so he can read.

The letter sounds nothing like Daphne. It is appallingly formal; she tells her parents that for the sake of her reputation and the sake of her ambitions in life she will stop communicating with any members of the Greengrass family starting promptly after the departure of this note. It is a cold letter—and Harry would never have believed it was from Daphne if not for her signature which Harry _knows_ is nigh impossible to duplicate since he has tried several times with Draco.

“We’ve lost a daughter tonight,” Lane murmurs quietly.

“And we’ve lost a sister,” Harry agrees.

Time passes, as it usually does, in sudden sprints and sprawling slogs.

It is 2004 when Harry receives a commission from one Ronald Weasley to reconstruct the Burrow. Harry is amused—but sends him the required confidentiality agreement. When it returns unsigned, Harry shrugs and moves on with his life. This happens sometimes—people don’t want to sign something when they don’t know who is on the other side. He can respect that. They ask if the company will still do the commission, but they decline politely.

Astoria never quite recovered from Daphne’s departure, but Daphne was true to her note to her parents and never did communicate with them again. They discover Daphne married Wesley Myers in late 2003 through a newspaper announcement. Astoria sends a gift—and it is returned unopened. Astoria cries for several days.

Draco, meanwhile, is doing well. He wants to start a family with Astoria, and Harry finds it hilarious that his best friend is so fascinated with children. Astoria, though, is not in any mental state suitable for having children. Draco understands this, so he lets Harry know about how much he wants kids instead of Astoria. 

Living Stone Architecture is doing well—their waiting list has been dramatically reduced, and they are still outperforming their competitors (Archie’s Arches, Magnificent Manors, Lavish Lofts—Harry truly does not understand the wizarding world’s fascinating with alliteration) by a dramatic margin. 

Several weeks after the returned Burrow contract, Harry cannot avoid Ron and Hermione for much longer before they become overly suspicious—this usually takes about a three month period and then he meets with them for about an hour. Afterwards, he goes straight to Draco and they get drunk and bemoan the state of their lives. It is a comfortable pattern, and Harry expects this event will be no different. Harry has become somewhat of an expert in avoiding prying questions into his life.

When Harry meets Ron and Hermione at their flat (he wonders why they are not meeting at the Burrow, but knows he cannot ask this question without revealing his association with Living Stone), he is prepared for another boring interaction with his once-close friends. 

He is let in by Winky again and sets about preparing the three of them their preferred cups of tea. For some reason, he is always at their house before they are. He doesn’t understand this pattern—but it’s constant. He always arrives first.

As expected, they tumble through the front door and are happy to see him. “Harry!” Hermione says. 

“Hi, Hermione,” Harry says. He gives her and Ron hugs in turn.

“How’ve you been?” she asks, taking the tea Harry offers her.

“Busy,” Harry says. “Swamped with work.”

Hermione nods enthusiastically and takes a sip of her tea. This is typical. Harry is about to return the question when, breaking their ritual, Ron looks at Harry sceptically. “You know, Harry,” he says. “Isn’t it odd that we haven’t ever run into each other at the Ministry? Considering you _work_ there?” 

Harry looks at Ron in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

“You work at the Ministry,” Ron says. “It’s not exactly a small space. You’ve been there for what—three years now? Why haven’t we seen each other there before?”

Hermione sets down her tea hesitantly. This is _not_ their usual pattern of pretending their relationship is perfectly normal.

“Well, you see,” Harry says, grasping for something to say.

“No,” Hermione adds. “Ron’s right. It _is_ peculiar, Harry. We haven’t even heard _anyone_ say anything about you working there, or at least I haven’t. No one can keep secrets for that long—it’s like you don’t even exist there.” 

“Why are you mentioning this now?” Harry asks.

Ron shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I went looking for you, the other day. And then someone told me that you actually—that you have _never_ worked at the Ministry. So that means you’ve _lied_ to us for the past three years.” 

Apparently, Ron has _not_ told Hermione this information. She is shocked. “What? Ron, when did you do this?” 

“A few days ago,” Ron says quietly.

Hermione whips back to Harry. She’s furious. “Harry Potter—is this true?” 

Harry considers his words carefully. “I have never lied to you,” he says. 

“Yes, you did—you told us you worked at the Ministry!” Ron says angrily.

“No, _I_ never told you that,” Harry interrupts. “That was something you came up with on your own. I never corrected you because that was something that you wanted to believe about me.”

Hermione shakes her head in disbelief. “You let us think a _lie_ for over three years?”

Harry twists his lips. “You never actually _asked_ me, you know. You just assumed. And it made you happy to think I worked there,” he says. “So I never bothered to correct.”

Ron is clenching and unclenching his fists. “Harry, you absolute berk—you can’t just _do_ this to people. What _happened_ to you? You’re not the same kid we used to know—”

“You’re right, I’m _not_. I grew up,” Harry says calmly—he knows that getting angry with them will not help anything. “And that’s not a bad thing. The only problem here is that you two haven’t bothered to figure out who I grew up into. I’m not a schoolkid anymore.”

Hermione and Ron sit across from Harry. They are silent. Ron’s eyes are disbelieving, while Hermione’s body almost visibly aches with regret.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione says after a long pause. “We’ve been cruel to you. We... we never listened, did we?”

Harry shakes his head slowly. “No, you haven’t” 

“What can we do?” she says. Ron is still silent. He’s not sure if he should still be angry with Harry for his lie of omission or himself for apparently ignoring Harry’s words.

Harry shakes his head, shrugs, raises his hands in confusion, then gives up. “I’m not sure. I mean, you’ve hurt me. It’s been hard, your closest childhood friends completely steamrolling you every time you come together. Ignoring what you have to say, pressing their own idea of you onto who you are—it’s unbearable.”

“Harry,” Hermione says. “Can you—can we try again?”

Harry sighs. “I guess? I mean, you two are important to me. That’s why I’ve kept coming here, despite it all.” 

“Let’s start over—can we? Right now—right now, no lies, no assumptions,” Hermione begs. “Just honesty.”

Harry smiles half-heartedly. “We can try, Hermione.”

It is awkward. They avoid talking about Harry—they talk about Ron’s work and then Hermione’s work and then, inevitably, the conversation turns to Harry.

“So, where do you actually work?”

Harry sighs. “I’m an architect.”

Ron brightens. “Architecture is really fascinating! We’re actually trying to rebuild the Burrow—it collapsed about half a year ago. Mum and Dad are giving it to us. We’ve been looking at companies,” he says. “We tried to use Living Stone—you know them?” Harry nods, somewhat amused. “Yeah, they’re supposed to be the best, but they wanted us to sign a privacy contract, of all things.”

Hermione nods. “We didn’t really want to have to do that, though. When we asked if they would do it without it, they declined.”

Harry nods. He understands—signing contracts without knowing the other person can be unnerving. But that contract is the only thing protecting his company and his privacy.

“Yeah,” Ron continues. “The owner really must be a horrible person, because who on earth wants to hide who they are if they’re just an architect? And then to refuse when we ask them if they’ll do it without the contract—I mean, we’re good people! We can keep a secret!”

Harry shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“I mean, our application had our names on it—if you can’t trust us, who can you trust?” Ron says belligerently. “They’re probably criminals, the whole lot of them. You don’t happen to know them, do you?”

“Well,” Harry says. “If I ever see the owner, I’ll be sure and let them know how you feel.”

Ron takes this as a supportive comment. “Yeah, tell him I’ll make his life miserable!”

“Ron, that’s not polite!” Hermione says. “You can’t just say that to a stranger.”

“But Harry knows the guy!” Ron says. “He’s not a stranger! And besides—you can tell us who he is, can you?” When Harry shakes his head in the negative, Ron sighs. “Oh, you signed that contract? Not a smart idea, mate. Those people are crooks over there. I should get the aurors to investigate them.” 

Harry tries to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. “I wouldn’t bother—I’m sure they’re good people, just private.” 

Ron scoffs. “I doubt that,” he says. “It’s fishy, is what it is. We should have never bothered with them in the first place.” 

Harry sighs. “Well, just get Archie’s Arches to do the building instead. LSA won’t budge on the privacy agreement,” he suggests. “But Archie’s is the second best.”

“Well, we want to use your company, now that we know you do architecture,” Hermione says. “Which one is it?” 

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t work for friends,” he lies. “Competitors will accuse me of nepotism.”

They seem disappointed but take this explanation as true. It is a lie. Harry looks at his watch—pretends to be shocked, then leaves, claiming he’s late for an appointment. He walks out of their apartment, and he walks out of their lives. 

When he tells Draco what Ron and Hermione think of their business that evening, and that he’s not going to be meeting up with them anymore. Draco snorts. “Good riddance,” he says. “You were miserable every time you had tea with them.” 

Harry knows this is true, but it doesn’t stop the empty feeling inside him. “I told them to use Archie’s,” he confesses. 

Draco laughs uproariously. “You didn’t! They’re the _worst_! Whatever they’re building will collapse in two or three years!” 

Harry nods. He’s starting to laugh himself. “Well—they insulted me straight to my face, and told me I was a crook that needed investigation from the aurors. Ron wanted me to tell the owner that he will ‘make his life miserable’ so I figured, what the hell, I’ll make yours miserable in return.”

Draco snickers into his glass. “Merlin, Harry. You’ve got a mean streak a mile wide,” he says. 

Harry smiles. “Sometimes it’s nice to use it,” he admits. “I’m thinking of taking a holiday back to India. Do you and Astoria want to come with? I want to invite you to meet my second family.” 

Draco only takes a few seconds to consider this idea before responding, “A trip to India? I’m going to get skin cancer, you know,” he says. “But we’ll be happy to come with you.” 

Astoria and Draco accompany Harry to India for their annual the end-of-year holiday. They invite Lane and Talia, but they declined politely. Harry tells Draco and Astoria that they’re going to be staying with Ahmed and his twin Navdeep. 

“Ahmed taught me everything I know about architecture,” Harry explains to Draco. Draco perks up. “Amala and Priya live nearby, Astoria. I think you will really like them,” he says to Astoria. She’s looking better these days. 

Priya and Amala are there to pick them up from the magical sector. They greet Harry excitedly, chattering in Hindi and they give hugs all around. Their English has improved since Harry has last seen them, so when Harry introduces them to Astoria and Draco, they are able to carry out full conversations with his them. 

Priya and Amala are instantly fond of Astoria and latch onto her with delight. Astoria blushes but enjoys their attention. “You must meet Vijaya,” Priya says. “She married Rafiq—” (at this moment, Harry interrupts with his surprise in Hindi, to which Amala and Priya also respond in Hindi with how little they all saw it coming) “—and I think you will like her very much.”

When they arrive at Ahmed and Navdeep’s house, Amala surprises Harry again by coming inside with them while Priya parts ways. When Harry asks her, she says that Navdeep and her finally got together, to which Harry congratulates her. Draco and Astoria are bemused by how enthusiastic Harry is about these conversations he is having in Hindi, but are ultimately pleased for him. 

Harry realises he has been ignoring Draco and Astoria, so he switches to English to include them. Ahmed and Draco get along well, while Amala entertains Astoria by talking about her nieces and nephews. Harry smiles. He is happy his family is getting along so well with each other. 

The merging of these two separate halves of himself—it thrills him. He runs his hand through his hair and grins goofily at Draco who smiles back. He sits beside Draco and Ahmed to listen in on their conversation. 

“Advait!” Ahmed says brightly. “I’m telling Draco about the business—I should have never left you go!” 

Harry laughs. “Well, you can’t have me back. My feelings have been permanently injured,” he jokes. Ahmed grins. 

“Draco is lucky to have you as a mentor,” Ahmed says. He turns to Draco. “This guy probably says I taught him everything but I only taught him a few things. He taught me the rest. Advait was making stuff up on the third day that no one had ever seen before. I kept him for that long because I wanted to see what else he was going to do!” 

Harry shakes his head in embarrassment. “That’s not true, Ahmed!” 

Ahmed shushes Harry and continues to talk, “It’s true—he’s a prodigy. We’ve missed our little brother. When he left, we didn’t realise just how much you had been doing! Our production slowed down so much I thought everyone was sleeping!” 

Draco laughs. “Harry is special,” he says.

“Who?” Ahmed looks confused for a second, then remembers belatedly when Draco looks baffled. “Oh—oh okay, my bad—I forgot.” 

Draco looks regretful. “Sorry for breaking your cover, Harry,” he says. “I didn’t know you went by your second name here.” 

Harry laughs, “No—Draco you’re fine. _They_ named me Advait. I never came up with it on my own.” 

Draco looks somewhat surprised. “Really?” 

Ahmed nods. “We told him he needed an Indian name,” he says. “Whose idea was it, in the end?” 

Harry thinks about this for a while, before shaking his head. “I think it was the girls. I don’t remember if it was just one of them.”

“But we all liked it right away. It just fit,” Ahmed says. “So Harry became Advait and we’ve called him that ever since. And you use the name elsewhere too?” Ahmed smiles, “When you’re trying to have cover?”

Harry raises his hands in the air. “I can’t help it—I’m famous!” he says and then they both laugh. Draco joins in after a second, too surprised to laugh when he realises that Ahmed _doesn’t actually know_ that Harry really _is _famous.

_And what a breath of fresh air that is,_ Draco thinks. _No wonder Harry loves it out here._

The time they spend with Harry’s friends passes quickly, and soon it is time for them to return to England. They part with hugs—and tears on Harry’s end. Harry speaks in rapid Hindi and promises he will visit soon, and that less time will pass before he does. _In a year_, he promises. _I’ll visit in a year_, he says. Ahmed and Amala see them as far as they can before they take their portkey and vanish, leaving India behind.

It is spring in 2005 when Harry needs to run out to the grocers. Astoria and Draco are going out, and Harry is feeling like using his kitchen for something fancier than what he has on hand. He apparates a safe distance away, and then walks into the Tesco. He deciding between two different wines for dinner that evening when someone pipes up from behind him.

“The white is better,” she says. Harry turns around and thanks the stranger.

“Don’t mind me,” she says. “I stood exactly where you are only two weeks past and decided to get both. I liked the white so much I’m back for more. Threw the red straight out.”

Harry smiles, raises his now chosen bottle, thanks the stranger, and starts to head his way out of the aisle.

Harry continues to run into the stranger several times throughout the store—it’s almost amusing. “Are we making the same meal?” Harry asks finally after he bumps into her in the produce section searching for sprouts.

“It’s that or you’re stalking me,” she says cheerily.

“Well, you approached me first,” Harry points out while smiling. “I’m making pad thai.”

She smiles. “Me as well.”

“Just for yourself or others?” Harry asks.

“Just me,” she says. “I’m a fan of cooking. Are you fetching the ingredients for someone?”

Harry shakes his head. “Oh no, none of my friends can cook to save their lives. But this is just for me tonight.” 

“You too?” she says. 

“I know, what a shame,” he says. “Identical meals for two lonely people tonight. We probably ought to cook together, don’t you think? Save some money and enjoy ourselves a bit more?” 

She smiles. “I think I might like that, stranger. It might be nice to actually know your name, though, before we go running off somewhere.”

“Harry Potter, at your service,” he says. 

“Lizzy Kinnaird, at yours,” she replies. “It’s very nice to meet you, Harry.”

“And you as well, Lizzy,” Harry says. “I live a bit out of town, are you nearby? I don’t want you to think I’m going to kidnap you or anything so you can decide where we’ll go.”

Lizzy looks grateful at this notion. “You seem like a decent enough bloke, I reckon. I’ll take my chances,” she says boldly. “I’ve never gone out with someone from a store before.”

“Neither have I,” Harry agrees. “This will be a first.”

“Well, go put all of your things away then. I’ll get the rest of our things and why don’t you meet me at the exit?” Lizzy says.

Lizzy and Harry walk into the carpark where Lizzy loads her food into the trunk of her vehicle. “It’s my mum’s,” she explains as they get inside. “She’s on holiday in France, so I’ve been driving it far too much.”

“Well, serves your mum right. Does she live around here too?” Harry asks.

“She’s about twenty minutes south of here,” Lizzy says. “Far enough away that I don’t ever have to see her if I don’t want to, but not too far away in an emergency.”

“The perfect distance, then,” Harry summarises. Lizzy agrees.

“What about you then? I haven’t seen you around town before. Are you local?” Lizzy asks.

Harry gestures in a so-so manner. “Technically, yes? I’m remote, so rarely I come into town, but I reckon I’m only ten or fifteen minutes east of here—I’ve never actually counted.”

“You must be by Loch Awe then?” Lizzy says. “It’s lovely over there.”

Harry nods. “I’ve a lake-view, actually,” he says.

Lizzy sighs. “Why are we going to my flat then? We should be going to yours!”

Harry makes a half-laugh sound. “Well, the funny thing is—I don’t have a drive up to the house.”

Lizzy looks at Harry in bewilderment. “But you said it was a ten minute trip!”

Harry shrugs. “I’ve never counted, since I’ve never driven it.”

“How did they build it then?” Lizzy asks. “No road nearby, or anything?”

Harry shakes his head. “It really is remote.”

Harry had forgotten that his living arrangements were certainly strange to a non-magical—no carport, no driveway; no _road_ access or anything.

“You have electric and water though, right?” 

“Oh, yes—yes, I’ve got water and light and all that,” Harry says, skirting the truth.

“Well, that’s a relief. If we’re ever going to do this again,” Lizzy says without even realising it, “you will need to put in a road or else I won’t be able to find your home. I’m horrible with maps and compasses and it sounds like that’s the only way you find your way around. I’ve no idea how you do it.”

Harry smiles. He is quickly becoming fond of Lizzy.

They pull into a garage and Harry helps Lizzy bring the parcels into a small. “It’s not much,” she prefaces, “but it’s home.” 

“It’s brilliant,” Harry says. “Shall we get started right away then?” 

Lizzy nods. “I’m famished,” she says. “But let’s start on the wine.” 

They cook together, and flirt. Harry is thoroughly enjoying himself. By the time they’ve finished making the pad thai, they have drunk half of the bottle and are tipsy. 

The food is delicious, and the wine _is_ excellent, just as Lizzy says. 

“Oh, this was so much fun,” Lizzy says as they finish their portions. “I like you, Harry Potter. We should do this again.”

“We could always make dessert?” Harry says, smiling. Lizzy looks at the clock, deems the time acceptable, and agrees.

“Dessert sounds _wonderful_,” Lizzy says. “I’ve ingredients for brownies, if you’d like?”

“It does,” Harry says. They talk more about who they are while making the brownies. Lizzy learns Harry is almost 25; that he is an orphan, but his best friend’s in-laws act as parents; she learns Harry speaks Hindi, that he went to a boarding school in Scotland named Hogwarts of all things; she learns Harry owns his own architecture firm, that he built his house himself, that he has what he considers a ‘second family’ in India he travels to visit yearly. Harry learns that Lizzy is the second of three children; she has an older sister who lives in France, and a younger brother who is still in school—since it is holiday for her brother’s school, her parents and younger brother are visiting her sister in France; Lizzy is a nurse and works at the local clinic; she is almost 26 and she loves traveling; she does not speak Hindi and does not seriously believe there is a boarding school in Scotland named Hogwarts of all things. She is not magical, and Harry is smitten.

The brownies are prepared, so they set the kitchen timer and go wait on the couch. Lizzy refills their wine glasses as they go. 

“I’ll work on getting a drive set up to my house,” Harry says. “I want you to come see it. You should try out my kitchen.”

“Oh—the way you say that, I’m already jealous,” Lizzy says. “Do you have more counterspace than me? Please tell me you don’t.”

“I have much more counterspace than you,” Harry says. Lizzy wails dramatically.

“I must see your home! Get a road built this week,” Lizzy says. 

“I’ll try,” Harry says. “Next week—maybe even this weekend, my place?”

Lizzy nods. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” she confesses. “I had honestly thought that I was just going to be miserable here. The past couple months had been truly awful—lonely, and cold. I was driving myself crazy.” She sets her glass down on the floor and curls her feet under herself. 

“I can understand feeling like you’re going crazy,” Harry says.

“Really? You seem so calm and collected—I mean, you own a business and you’re not even 25. When have you ever felt like you were falling apart?” Lizzy says. 

“It was right after I finished school, actually,” Harry’s mind goes wild—how on earth is he supposed to explain all of this to someone who doesn’t _know_ and who he can’t tell? He resigns himself to just telling the bare minimum. “All of my school friends were pressuring me to go into government or law enforcement, and I really didn’t have a very good experience with either of those as a kid—not that I was bad, but just some messed up stuff happened with my godfather being wrongfully imprisoned and the government never putting him on trial—” 

“Oh my god, seriously?” Lizzy says. “That’s wildly illegal—how on earth did that not become major news?”

“They hushed it up, I guess. Do you remember, back in ’93 when there was that mass murderer going around, Sirius Black? I think it was on the telly?”

Lizzy thinks hard about this. “Yes? Vaguely—it sounds familiar? Let me look it up—” she goes to get up from her spot but Harry reaches out and grabs her hand. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not that important—I’m just saying that it _was_ on the news. Sirius Black was my godfather; the bad press was all that got out, none of the good,” Harry says, guiding her back to the sofa. She sits down much closer to Harry now, who does not let go of her hand.

“Anyways, I didn’t know what to do with my life. My godfather died—” (_Oh, God, I’m so sorry_.) “—and my aunt and uncle were never supportive of me, and with all of my friends pressuring me to become something I didn’t want to be, I felt like I was going crazy,” Harry says, looking at Lizzy. 

“What did you do?” Lizzy says as she threads her fingers through Harry’s.

“Well—to be perfectly honest, I left the country,” Harry laughs. “I didn’t really know what I wanted to be, so I took a year off and spent the money my godfather left me and toured the world.”

“What on earth?” Lizzy says, smiling. “That’s absurd—I can’t do that.”

“I know, I know,” he says. “It was a pretty unique situation—but it did help me figure out I wanted to be an architect and so when I came back I started my own business and my best friend joined me about a year later. The point of this story,” Harry emphasizes by clenching the hand that is holding Lizzy’s, “is that no matter how bad it gets, it will get better.”

“Your motivational speeches could use a bit of work,” Lizzy says, “but it did help, thank you.”

“And besides—you’ve got me now. You don’t have to feel so alone anymore,” Harry says.

“Do I really?” Lizzy says. “How do I know you’re not just going to walk out my door and forget me?”

“You’re pretty unforgettable,” Harry says. “But this could help.”

Harry leans forward and reaches out with the hand that’s not holding Lizzy’s and pulls her face gently towards his and kisses her softly.

“Is this okay?” he breathes. She answers by wrapping an arm around Harry’s back and kissing him in return. She pulls him over her, and he’s careful not to put any of his weight on her body by propping himself up by his arms and knees. They kiss, softly at first, but quickly growing in intensity. Lizzy’s hands roam over Harry’s back, sliding underneath his shirt and playing with the waistband of his trousers.

It is clear she wants to move faster, but the taste of alcohol is strong in their mouths, so Harry carefully unwinds himself from her when he hears the sound of the beeping oven and whispers quietly, “We can’t burn the place down.”

She acquiesces, and Harry gets up and goes to remove the brownies from the oven and places them on the drying rack. Lizzy follows Harry to the kitchen and smiles at him. 

“When will I see you again?” she asks.

Harry smiles. “As soon as you want to. I’m self-employed.”

Lizzy grins. “Would tomorrow be far too presumptuous? I know there’s the whole awkward wait a couple days thing—but I don’t want to play any games.”

Harry sighs in relief. “Good, because I have no idea how to play them anyways. Tomorrow then? I will _not_ have a road to my house ready by then, so we will have to be here.”

“That’s fine. I get off work around five—so will seven be okay?” Lizzy says. 

“Seven sounds great. I’ll even write it down,” Harry says.

“Write it down for me, too. I think I drank too much,” she bemoans. Harry writes an additional note on a piece of paper _Dinner with Harry at 7_ and leaves it on her counter.

“Oh—add your telephone number, will you? In case I need to ring you,” she says.

“Ah, that’s another awkward part about where I live. No telephones,” he says.

“My God, how do you survive?” she asks.

“A lot of planning in advance and praying people don’t forget?” Harry asks. He’s also going to have to make his house suitable for non-magicals; he hadn’t considered the potentially incriminating artifacts he has laying around.

“Well—I will just expect you to show up tomorrow then at 7, rain or shine,” Lizzy says.

“Rain or shine,” Harry agrees. “Thank you for having me tonight.”

Lizzy smiles. “Thank _you_ for not kidnapping me.”

Harry laughs softly before giving Lizzy a hug. He gives her one final, slow kiss before they break away and part for the night.

When Harry goes to bed that evening, he’s feeling happier than he has in a very long time.

The next few evenings follow the same pattern that the first night did. They talk for hours while cooking delicious food and have stopped making dessert and instead kiss until it is time to part. Harry is falling hard for Lizzy, and he thinks it is a mutual attraction.

While he spends his evenings with Lizzy, he is working to construct a driveway to his home. He declares that this is a family emergency, and tells Draco they cannot work on any of their scheduled work until this is settled. 

When he told Draco about this plan, Draco looked at him as if he was insane. “Why on earth do you need a road to your house? You don’t even have a car!”

“Well, you’re right,” he says. “But this girl I’m dating _does_, and I want to invite her over.”

Draco sighs. “You’re making me do all of this for you—for a _girl_? She’s a Muggle, isn’t she,” he says.

“She is, but she’s fantastic,” Harry says. Draco sighs again, but agrees. They surreptitiously went to the nearest road and measured the size of a lane to model their own after.

They’re walking through the area to try and find a relatively even grade upon which to construct a dirt road for a car to travel on. It takes them the better part of a week until they finally lay out the final plans for what it will looks like. Harry is pleased with the end result and, based on his minimal road construction research, knows that the both road’s grade and width are both completely appropriate. The fact that it also happens to meander through some of the most beautiful part of his property is secondary.

Harry lets Draco go home for when he casts the spells. This portion of the process only takes as much times as it does to walk the drive from the home to the house. Harry decides to cast an additional spell on the drive that conceals it unless you are looking for it. This way, only those he invites will be able to stumble upon his private drive.

It is Sunday by the time the road is completed, but inconveniently, it takes Harry another week before he can conclude that his house is completely non-magical-proof: there is no evidence of magic anywhere in the house from the top to the bottom (except, of course, in the magically concealed places where he crammed every last magical item he had). He goes over to Lizzy’s that night, as he has every night since that first day, and tells her that his drive has been completed.

“Wow,” Lizzy says. “That was remarkably fast. Only two weeks? You didn’t get special treatment because you’re the boss?”

Harry laughs. “Well,” he says, “I did convince my friend that this was an emergency, and he did agree.”

“Did he not realise you didn’t have a road either?”

“I’m not sure if he did,” Harry admits. “But once he did know, we fixed it. How about we go to mine tonight?”

Lizzy smiles, and agrees. Harry joins Lizzy in her car and directs her to his private drive. He is wildly nervous for this—the first test drive of his first road construction, but it is perfect. The views are pleasant, and the road isn’t as long as it felt when he was walking it. When they turn the final corner and Lizzy sees Harry’s house, she gasps.

“Harry, this is spectacular. You designed this?” Lizzy says.

Harry nods, slightly embarrassed. “I did,” he says.

“It’s incredible. Absolutely incredible,” she says and then parks the car. 

“Would you like a tour?” he offers. She agrees immediately. 

“Start with the outside, please. I need to see everything,” she says.

The driveway snakes to the back of the house where there is no view of the lake—the western front of the house is facing the lake. So when Harry takes Lizzy around the front, she gasps and grabs onto Harry’s hand. “Harry—this looks like it’s out of a storybook,” she says. “I can’t believe you actually live here. I feel like we’re in a movie.” 

Harry smiles. “No movie—it’s real life—come on, have a look at the front of the house.”

They turn to look at the front of the house, where Lizzy is impressed thoroughly. Harry leads her inside, where she also can’t believe her eyes.

“Did you have someone design the inside—no, _no_. Don’t tell me you did this yourself!” Lizzy exclaims.

“I did,” Harry says, spreading his hands in a mock apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, God, you must have hated my house,” Lizzy says. “I’m so embarrassed about it now.”

“Don’t be,” Harry says, touching her arm. “You should have seen what I was living in before this. It was horrendous.”

Harry doesn’t mention that this previous home was a _tent_ as he guides her through the rest of the house. He avoids the kitchen in order to present it last, and shows her the upstairs. 

“Two guest bedrooms, and the master suite is down there,” he says. Harry points down the hallway toward his bedroom, and then turns to walk downstairs but then Lizzy stops him.

“I want to see your room,” she says. Harry is slightly surprised—he hasn’t seen Lizzy’s room in the time he has been dating her—but nods and then shows her his room.

It’s a room with warm neutral colours, and to Lizzy’s surprise, has the least amount of personalisation inside. Even the guest bedrooms seemed to have some personal items inside of it. This room seems to have been stripped bare. 

“This looks... odd, compared to the rest of the house,” Lizzy says. “Are you redecorating?”

Harry seems uncomfortable—he doesn’t want to tell her about magic yet, but he clearly did not make his room seem lived in after he removed all of the magical items. Harry internally hits himself for not thinking about this. 

“Yes,” he says, grateful for Lizzy’s granted escape. “Everything’s in storage.”

Lizzy nods. She still seems somewhat suspicious of the strangely bare room, but then turns back down the hallway, visibly brightens and says, “I am going to your kitchen now—no more torture!”

Harry smiles and follows her toward the kitchen. She knows where it is, because Harry was obviously avoiding the room, going out of his way to steer her elsewhere.

He is proud of his kitchen. He has spent many hours in here, drinking with Draco, talking and eating with Draco and Astoria. He hosts all of his gatherings in his kitchen instead of the more formal rooms because of the amount of space and airiness of the room. It’s probably his favourite room in the house, after his bedroom when it is arranged normally. Then again—he loves every space in his home. The warm of the magic he has cast here sings to him in every corner. He wonders how it makes Lizzy feel.

Lizzy is also appreciative of the kitchen. She runs her hand down the counter and smiles. “Oh, I can see myself cook in here,” she says, but then sighs. “Honestly, I don’t think I want to cook today. I’m all cooked out.” 

“I might agree with you on that,” Harry says. “I’ve eaten more food this past week than I have probably all year. It’s going to completely wreck my figure.”

Lizzy laughs. “Unlikely,” she says. “I think you could eat three times as much and never gain any weight.”

Harry shudders. “I think I’m too scared to try,” he says. “And I like the outdoors too much. I like to wander this area so that probably helps.”

“Especially considering you’ve been apparently _walking_ to my house and back every day this week?” Lizzy says incredulously. “That was at least seven kilos—how long did that take you?”

Harry shrugs. “Not long. I walk a lot,” he says.

“You’re crazy,” she says, smiling. “I kind of like it.”

Harry laughs. “I hope so!”

They decide to eat toast for dinner—laughing about it while they lay back on Harry’s sofa and admire the colours the sunset casts on the mountains and hills they can see out the panoramic windows in front of them.

“I feel like I’m in some kind of fairy tale out here,” Lizzy says quietly after some time. They’re tangled up in each other, peacefully enjoying each other’s presence. Lizzy’s hair smells faintly like pomegranates, Harry notes as he hums in agreement.

“No neighbours, no noise—it’s so peaceful. This whole _house_ feels so different than anything I’ve ever felt before—do you know what I’m talking about? It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist right here. Why is that?”

Harry presses a kiss to her hair. “I know. It’s why I love it here, why I never bothered to build a road to it. I liked the serenity it offers,” he murmurs quietly.

“I think I get it now,” she says. “You seemed so odd—no television, no phones—but out here? You don’t need it. This home is incredible, Harry.”

Harry smiles and thanks her.

They listen to their heartbeats. The magic of his house, Harry feels, has never felt so _complete_ before today. It is dancing all over his skin and it feels like hopes and promises and dreams. It feels whole—like it had been missing something before. And it had—it had been missing Lizzy.

“How often do boats come right in front of the house in the lake?” Lizzy asks. 

Harry has actually cast a spell that encourages non-magicals to avoid the area, but he cannot say this. “Most are here for the fishing,” he says. “The lake’s famous for its brown trout and salmon that bring people from all over.” 

“Yeah?” Lizzy asks.

Harry nods, wrapping an arm around her. “There’s an old Gaelic myth that Loch Awe was made by the Cailleach. _Cailleach nan Cruachan_, they used to call her,” he says. It is getting darker—the sun fully set—and so Harry nonverbally casts a spell to light some candles to brighten the room. He gets a blanket for the two of them, and starts a fire. It is comfortable, cosy, and warm.

“Tell me her story,” Lizzy says when Harry returns. Harry climbs behind her in order to hold her in his arms, covers them with the blanket and begins to talk.

“Cailleach was the queen of winter,” he begins. “She brings winter every year by washing her plaid which causes a great storm to occur. The next three days she spends washing her plaid until it is pure white, and snow covers the land. But one of her duties was to maintain the well of spring water on the top of Ben Cruachan. She was supposed to let the water flow during the day, and then cap the well during the night. She was very careful to fulfil her duty. There were many people who lived beneath Ben Cruachan who depended on this water.

“She tended to herds of deer when she didn’t need to cover or uncover the well. She cared for the mountains and her hammer would shape the hills. She was a powerful warrior whose staff could freeze the very ground. She would fight off Spring when it tried to come too early, but she loved the people who lived on the earth and she cared for their lives—and she was sorrowful that her presence made them suffer for the cold. This is why she always surrendered to Spring in the end, even though she was the better and stronger fighter.

“But one day, she fought Spring more vigorously than she needed to, and Cailleach still needed to guide the herds of deer herds to their new grazing grounds. The day was drawing quickly to a close—but Cailleach was so focused on guiding her animals to their homes that she forgot to cap the well. When she remembered her duty it was almost dawn. She ran back to Ben Cruachan, but to her horror, she saw that the water—unhindered and uncapped all night—had burst its bounds and ran down from the highlands to break through the Pass at Brander. The water had flooded the entire valley below her—and all of the people who lived there, all of their children and grandchildren, and all of their cattle and sheep—all of them had drowned. Loch Awe had formed. Cailleach wept with horror at her mistake and negligence of her duty. She cast her staff under the base of a holly tree and turned to stone. To this day, she sits high above the Pass at Brander. Rumours say that at the base of Loch Awe, you can find the ruins of the old village that Cailleach destroyed.”

Harry finishes his story. “I can’t help but feel bad for Cailleach,” Lizzy says.

“Really?” Harry says, curious. “How come?”

“I know that she’s supposed to be the villain in this story—she tries to prevent spring, and she didn’t fulfil her duty and destroyed all of the villagers that depended on her—but I don’t think anyone ever told her the consequences of a mistake,” Lizzy says. “She didn’t know what would happen.” 

“Shouldn’t having been told what to do been enough?” Harry asks. 

“No,” Lizzy says after a pause. “What if nothing had happened, and Cailleach found out that her duty was really meaningless? She might have expected, after so many years and years of doing the same job with minor variations in time, with no major differences happening that she could see, that nothing catastrophic would happen if she neglected the well for a single night.”

“So what if she _had_ been told the consequences?” Harry says. “Would she be guilty then?”

Lizzy pauses. “Maybe? Then she knows that she needs to do this because it’s a life-or-death situation.”

“But what if she can’t trust the person who tells her do to this—say maybe Spring told her that it would cause major destruction if she neglected her duty—wouldn’t that make her _more_ likely to not follow through? Or if the penalty of the failure to fulfil the duty is actually a lie meant to intimidate?” Harry asks.

“Oh, those are hard,” Lizzy says. “Let me think.”

Harry waits for a moment before Lizzy speaks again. “I think that _who_ tells you what the consequences are matters a great deal. If it had been Spring—I think Cailleach would have purposefully ignored the duty because it clearly mattered to her. But if it was a villager? Cailleach might have followed even more exactly than she would have without any consequences,” she says. “But that last part—if the penalty is a _lie_—I have no idea. How would you know that? Could you risk it? What if they _weren’t_ lying?”

“But what if it’s someone you trust and they _are_ lying to you?” Harry asks. “If a villager asks Cailleach to do this in order to occupy her time so that she doesn’t fight Spring—that’s not with the intention she is told. That’s a lie—that’s manipulation.” 

“You’re right. But—do the potential benefits outweigh the costs? I think that’s what matters here, maybe?”

“The ends justify the means?” Harry asks.

“Oh, but I’m not sure,” Lizzy says, “because that’s simply not _true_. You can prevent climate change by killing every single human alive, but that’s not justifiable.” 

“Would you sacrifice a teenager to destroy the leader of a terrorist organisation?” Harry asks. 

This makes Lizzy pause—the _vulnerability _in Harry’s voice here is different than anything she has heard from him before. She turns around to look Harry in the face.

“Why do you ask?” Lizzy asks quietly. 

“Would you do it?” Harry asks. “I trust you—your opinions. Would you do it? Is it the right thing to do? You could save thousands of lives if you just destroy a single kid’s.”

His voice is wobbling—and Lizzy can’t believe it but she thinks she almost sees tears and then she instantly understands—somehow, _somehow_, this is _personal_ to Harry. That this question is essential to why he lives out here, in the middle of nowhere, off the grid. That this question is _vital_ to who he is as a human being and that she needs to answer it completely honestly and that if she lies—she has no future with him. That she will vanish from his life as easily as she entered it. 

“Harry,” she starts, and then adjusts her arms so she can hold his face—his desperately honest face—and she smiles so weakly that it’s hardly even there. “Everyone in this world matters. No one person is better or worse than anyone else. We are all equal in importance, no matter what other people will tell us. You matter just as much as the Queen does—just as much as the PM—just as much as that single kid whose life was destroyed—even just as much as a leader of terrorist organisation. Your worth is _priceless_. So, no—I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. You can’t do that to children. You can’t do that to _anyone_ who doesn’t have informed consent and doesn’t know the entire situation of what is going on. A child should never be put in that sort of situation. A parent should never make that decision for a child; a guardian can’t make that decision for a child. Only the child can when the child is an adult. A child can be taught to say that they can understand, that they want to participate—but that may not be what they _really _think because they never had the chance to actually _learn_ what they think. They don’t even know who they are and they still need to figure that—” 

And Harry is kissing her—Harry is kissing her and his face is wet—tears?—and then Harry is on top of her and then she is begging for more and Harry picks her up and carries her to the awkwardly empty room that she doesn’t understand but maybe she will more—and then he asks gently for consent which she gives because she needs this now—and then they make love.

They make love, and Harry kisses her, and Lizzy kisses him, and they fall asleep breathlessly, their limbs tangled, their hair a mess, and the house—oh, the house—it is _singing_.


	5. 2006-2009

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lizzy learns about magic

**V. 2006 – 2009**

Lizzy meets Draco Malfoy, Harry’s best friend, on accident. She has no idea how Draco’s there—there’s no car outside Harry’s house.

She was making breakfast while Harry was getting dressed for work, when _suddenly_ as if out of nowhere—there’s this blonde man in the living room and he is shouting: “Harry, you’re _late _and if you don’t come down here _now_ I’m going to curse you half—oh, hi, I’m Draco, you must be Lizzy.” 

“Hi, Draco. You’re going to curse him? Be sure to make it effective, he’s being _really _slow this morning. I’m not sure why,” Lizzy says, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard lots about you. Weird that we’re only just now meeting, don’t you think?”

“You know about cursing? He’s told you about that?” Draco looks somewhat shocked but is pleased. “Well—then yeah, I’m really surprised we haven’t met yet then. I thought it was because of all of that he was holding off on our introductions—”

“Draco! Sorry I’m running late,” Harry interrupts, running down the stairs with dripping hair. “Lizzy—this is Draco Malfoy, Draco, this is Lizzy Kinnaird. Geez, I’m embarrassed.” 

Lizzy raises her eyebrows. “You think? Here’s breakfast, you sloth. By the way, what’s this thing about cursing that you haven’t told me about? Draco was talking about how its why we haven’t met yet—is some secret you’ve been keeping from me for the past year?” 

Draco pales behind Lizzy’s shoulder. His eyes widen dramatically, and mouths, _I’m sorry_.

Harry flicks his eyes between Draco and Lizzy. Lizzy looks equally angry and hurt, while Draco just looks like he’s dropped an ancient antique and is about to be murdered. 

“_Bhainachod_. Alright, Draco—I’m not going to work today. Fuck off,” Harry says. “Lizzy—call in sick. I’ve a lot to explain.” 

Draco holds up his hands and backs away slowly. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to—” 

“Just get out of here, _maadarachod_,” Harry swears. 

“Harry, what’s going on?” Lizzy says, slightly afraid. "I need to drive to get service.” 

“That’s okay,” Harry says. “I’ll just get the house back to what it used to be while you’re gone. Just make sure you get the day off, and then please come right back.” 

“Get the house—Harry, what are you talking about? Why is all of this going on?” 

Harry talks a few steps forward, and kisses Lizzy quickly. “This is a good thing. I’m a little annoyed with Draco, but I’m _not _mad with you. I’m actually kind of excited,” he says. “Trust me, okay?” 

Lizzy nods hesitantly before getting a bit more confident. “Okay, okay. I’ll be back in ten minutes, okay? Is that enough time?” 

“That’s more than plenty,” Harry says. He gives Lizzy one last kiss before she leaves. 

Lizzy steps out of Harry’s home and into her new car. Her mother’s car was returned, but she missed having one so much, she decided to purchase her own. Having Harry as a boyfriend really requires a vehicle of her own as she found out a few days after being motor-less. She tried to walk to Harry’s home, but found it took well over an hour. She was out-of-breath, and so tired by the time she arrived that Harry was so concerned for her walking back that he loaned her an old bicycle of his for her to take back. She tried to find the bicycle to bring back the next day, but it had gotten stolen and completely vanished into thin air. When she told Harry, he shrugged it off like it was no big deal—_it happens, I don’t blame you, it was a horrible cycle anyways._ She begged Harry afterwards to help her become more fit, so he took her on all sorts of walks through the mountains and she enjoyed them all, especially with Harry’s patient and non-rushing cheerful demeanour at her side when she struggled—and soon became more confident. Now she can walk the distance to Harry’s house in only thirty minutes, but regardless of her newfound athleticism, she still prefers to drive. 

She leaves the scenic drive to a nearby turnout on the road that she discovered is the closest spot with signal. She calls her employer, and tells them she’s come down with a horrible cold and won’t be coming in today. She makes sure to talk hoarsely while on the phone, and her story is convincing. She is let off for the day—and so she returns to Harry’s home. 

When she parks her vehicle, the house looks the same on the outside. She opens the front door, calling out a timid _Harry? I’m back,_ and then she closes the door behind her and looks around the foyer. The only change is a small statue on the entrance table—it matches the décor nicely, and when she goes to look at it closer, she realises that it is of a strange animal—a weird half eagle, half horse thing. She jumps back when the statue _ruffles its wings_—how fascinating! She has no idea how it works, but she appreciates it. Why was this hidden? She moves on to the living areas with their panoramic views. Here and there—there are noticeable changes. More books fill the shelves, but they have strange names, like _The Encyclopaedia for Construction Charms_ or _A History of Wizarding Architecture_. They match the other books—but she’s confused with their topics. Wizarding, charms? Is Harry some strange Wiccan—well, she can work with that. Everyone needs to have a flaw, she thinks. 

The light switches—they’ve completely vanished, and she only notices this when she walks into the kitchen. She normally always turns on the light as she enters the room, but somehow, the room brightens as soon as she steps inside. _Motion sensors_? She thinks, but this doesn’t make sense—why would they use light switches instead of the motion sensors this whole time? 

She checks the previous room for the lights—and they are gone as well. As are the electrical outlets on the walls. How peculiar. 

But she enters the clean kitchen and she finds little changes—but then she realises the room is _completely_ clean—actually, the whole house is completely clean and she _knows_ Harry cannot clean this fast. Something happened in here. There’s not a crumb of food nor soap suds in the dry kitchen sink, but when she checks the cabinets—there they are: the dishes she had just been using this morning. Lizzy is starting to feel somewhat uneasy as she makes her way up the stairs. 

She shrieks for the first time in the guest bedroom—the picture of the couple on the wall that she always had assumed were Harry’s parents—they’re moving now. They’re _moving_ and then they’re _talking to her_. 

“Oh—it’s so nice to finally talk to you. Where’s Harry?” The man says. 

Lizzy immediately leaves the room—her heart beating fast and closes the door behind her. She rests against the closed door and tries to regain her breath. _What the hell_, she thinks. She is afraid now—and so she checks the other guest bedroom by just peaking her head in, and to her relief—there’s no _people_ but the picture of the landscape _is_ moving—the grass is blowing in constant wind and—and this one is actually quite beautiful. She steps fully into the room and stares at the painting. It’s a view of a castle—a large lawn spread out in front of it, with some strange hoops and towers in a corner. A forest fills one side of the painting, but it is lovely. She looks at the frame and sees and etching on it—_Hogwarts, 1980_. The year Harry was born—_the_ _school he went to_. 

She takes another look at the place. It is magnificent and she can’t imagine going to _school_ in a place like that. She leaves the guest bedroom, and then heads her way down to the master suite. 

The entire time she has known Harry, he has claimed he is in the process of renovating his bedroom. He always, though, gets distracted by current work projects and spending time with Lizzy so by the time he has available time, he’s too exhausted to work on it—or at least, that’s what he has said for the past year. 

But when she steps inside—she realises this has been a total lie. 

His room is stunning. It is covered with these beautiful moving landscapes of fantastic monuments that are across the world. She sees the Egyptian pyramids, Machu Pichu, the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall of China, the Sagrada Familia’s interior—and more she doesn’t even know what they are. They are so artfully placed around the room that she doesn’t even know where to start looking—but then she sees the photographs of people on his dresser. His empty dresser top that she had been filling with photos of the two of them.

She’s extraordinarily happy to see that none of them have been removed. They stand prominently with the other, moving portraits. But these are of people she doesn’t know. One is a group of Harry with several Indians smiling. He’s younger in that photo, maybe still in his teens. Another is with this Draco person she met only this morning, and what she assumes to be his wife (her name is completely escaping her right now, which makes Lizzy feel somewhat bad considered she has heard of her a lot). They’re smiling as well. They shift between smiling and laughing—and Lizzy has no idea how this picture is working, how they are moving—so she flips the picture frame over to try and see if there’s a strange mechanism behind it—but instead there’s another photo, on the backside of that one; it’s been covered up—it’s of _four_ people, Draco and his wife, Harry, and a girl who looks just like Draco’s wife. She looks at it quizzically—she’s never heard of this fourth person. She wonders why. 

She sets the _moving _photograph back down and continues to look at the photos. There’s one where Hogwarts can be seen in the background and in which clearly, Harry is much younger. He is shorter, he looks almost sixteen—he’s extremely dirty, bleeding from numerous places, and looks completely exhausted, and his smile is one of relief, not joy. He’s holding a strange stick, as are his two companions. The one on the right is a redhead who is much taller than him who is also filthy and bleeding and smiling, followed by a brunette girl who looks the same. They move between hugging each other and then the other two kiss and Harry stands alone and looks off in the distance looking like the whole world rests on his shoulders—or that it just did—but he looks too _old_ to be so young. She flips the photo over—maybe there’s an explanation like there was on some of the others. 

It reads: Victory after the Battle of Hogwarts, May 1998. HP, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger. 

The _Battle of Hogwarts_? What the hell? She sets the photo back down and then picks it back up to look at that date—1998. What the hell? She quickly looks at the other photos and finds that the photo with the second closest date is one where Harry was with a Hispanic person. It has a jungle backdrop. It reads: El Mirador, Guatemala, September 1998. HP, Alejandro Juárez. 

Five months—but Harry looks like an entirely different person. He’s looks like he’s almost a foot taller—he looks _so much happier_. What _happened_ during those five months to change Harry so much? 

She would go on a more thorough examination of the photographs—she’s ignoring the fact that they’re moving right now—she’s mainly wondering how on earth someone could change _that much_ in so little a time—when Harry arrives. 

“Oh, Lizzy—I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” he says. A box is floating next to him. She gapes. _A box is floating next to him_.

“What on earth?” she asks. “How is that—how is that floating?”

“Magic?” Harry says in return—but it’s more like a question.

“That’s not possible. Magic isn’t real, Harry. What is going on—how do you pictures move—and there’s a painting that tried to _talk_ to me!” 

Harry flinches, “Oh, yikes, I’m sorry about that. They’re really chatty—” 

“Harry! That’s beside the point—what’s going on? The whole house is far too clean for you to have done anything to it since I left,” Lizzy says. “Do you have—my God, Harry—do you have _slaves_ in your basement?” 

Harry startles. “What? _No_, Lizzy—no, that’s completely absurd. Let me _show_ you,” he says. He looks around for ideas and then says, “Break something—just break something. Really, thoroughly break something.” 

Lizzy looks confused and refuses at first, but Harry is insistent. She picks up a vase and then throws it at the ground. It shatters and the flowers and water flood the floor. 

“Yikes, that’s a mess, right?” Harry asks. Lizzy nods. 

“Why the fuck did you have me do that?” Lizzy asks. 

“Because of this,” Harry says. He’s holding that wooden stick that he was holding in that photo—and he waves it in a circle and says, “_Reparo_.” 

And then Lizzy watches in disbelief as the vase _reforms_ itself and the flowers and water siphon _back _into the ceramic container. She picks it up. “That was planned—you set me up for that—you rigged it in advance.”

“No, I swear I haven’t,” Harry insists. “But—hey, how about we go somewhere where you buy something you _know_ I haven’t rigged—something I could have _never_ gotten to in advance and we try that, okay? Will you believe me then?” 

Lizzy thinks about this and says, “If you’re that willing to make a fool out of yourself, okay.” 

So Lizzy takes Harry to a dusty antique shop and makes Harry wait in the car while she picks out an absurdly obscure item in the very back corner of a case. She buys it, and then returns to Harry in the car.

“Do it in here. It’s a car—you don’t have any special equipment in here.”

“Are you sure? I just sat in here for ten minutes without supervision, Lizzy,” Harry says. “I really want you to believe me.” 

Lizzy sighs. “Damn. Okay—okay, I know where we’re going.”

“And it can’t be in front of anyone else, alright?” Harry says. 

“Yeah, whatever. No one would believe it, anyways,” she says. “But I’ll obey.” 

So she drives to a petrol station and then tells Harry to get out of the car, and she walks him into the water closet and follows him in. “You have _never_ been in here in your life, have you?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Never, I promise.” 

She nods. “Good. Okay, here we go. Fix this thing.” 

She pulls the little ceramic horse out of her pocket and throws it against the wall. It _explodes_. She stops on the pieces, and scatters them throughout the loo. 

“Fix _that_,” she says confidently. 

Harry had been watching her with some amusement, but with complete confidence and nonchalantly says, “_Reparo,_” and then—then the stupid ceramic horse is whole again. 

“No, _no_—that’s not possible!” Lizzy says. “That’s _not possible_, I _destroyed _it.”

“You did, Lizzy—but it’s _magic_. Lizzy—Lizzy, love, I have magic—it’s who I am. I’m a wizard, Lizzy. That’s why I never had a road, because I used magic to get to places—Lizzy, look at me,” Harry says when she starts crying. She shakes her head and tries to fight out of Harry’s arms, but he turns her and holds her in a hug and whispers in her hair, “Lizzy, it’s alright. It’s okay, nothing is going to hurt you, okay? Everything is okay, I’m here—I love you—I’m still the same person—everything is going to be alright.” 

It takes some time, but she finally calms down enough to breathe regularly. She murmurs a thanks and then asks Harry if they can go home.

“Can you drive, I don’t feel like it,” she asks.

Harry hesitates, but then says, “I can do something better than driving, if you’re feeling up to it?” 

Lizzy looks at Harry. Her eyes are red and her mascara has smeared around her eyes. She gives a half-shrug. “Is it safe?” 

“Everything is safe, when you’re with me,” he says. “I’ll protect you from everything.” 

So she acquiesces, and Harry apparates them home, leaving Lizzy’s car locked in the carpark of a petrol station. 

Lizzy feels nauseous when they land—and Harry tells her this is normal, that this happened to him, that he threw up the first time, so she’s doing much better than he did—and then when the feeling passes she sits herself down on the couch and quietly asks, “Why did you hide this from me?” 

Harry sighs. “It’s a law,” he says. “The Ministry of Magic—our government—they and several other magical governments across the globe—” 

“There’s _more_ of you? Across the _globe_?” She asks. Harry nods, but holds her in his arms a little tighter. 

“Yes, but it’s okay. You’re safe—don’t worry. They all signed an agreement to hide ourselves from non-magical people. It was back during the witch trials—persecution of magicals was at an all-time high, so the International Statue of Secrecy has been in place ever since. We’re only allowed to tell non-magicals about magic if they are immediate family, or if we’re in a serious permanent relationship with a non-magical,” Harry says.

“_Permanent_?” Lizzy says, almost with a squeak.

“I would like it to be that way,” Harry says. “I will understand if you choose differently, but I love you, Lizzy, and I would be thrilled to have you in my life forever.” 

“Are you _proposing_?” Lizzy asks, slightly horrified. 

“Merlin, no. If I propose—_when_ I propose, I’ll do it properly, with a ring and everything,” Harry says. 

“So then—you are planning on marrying me?” Lizzy says. 

“Only if you agree?” Harry says. “I’m horrible at talking about this sort of stuff, and this really isn’t the time, I imagine—having just told you I’m a wizard.” 

Lizzy shakes her head, “We’ll talk about that later—I’m just confused. I need—what else have you lied to me about? How much of your life was a lie?” She pulls out of Harry’s arms and turns to look at him. “How much of our relationship was founded on something that wasn’t true?” 

Harry is confident when he says, “The only thing I hid from you was the magic. Everything I have shared with you has been the truth, or part of it. The only times I have lied have been related to magic—and those were white lies about electricity or why people don’t boat in front of my house, or why I didn’t have a driveway, or why I don’t have a mail box. It’s because I have magic to do those things for me—but I put in a driveway for _you_, and I put in a mail box for _you_ as well. I want you to live with me, and you basically have been, these past couple months. We have been _happy_ together. My decorations—I just removed the magical parts. And the magic makes things easier. Imagine cooking as much as we like, but then never having to clean, unless we wanted to. Magic cleaned the kitchen this morning. Imagine tracking mud onto the carpet, but never having to rent a carpet cleaner because magic will fix it for you. It’s a gift, Lizzy.”

“But it’s dangerous,” she says quietly. “It hurts people.” 

“What do you mean? Why do you say that?” Harry asks in an equally quiet tone. 

“Magic hurt _you_—those times we were talking about ethics and totalitarianism—the whole story of Cailleach and responsibility and duty; you were talking about yourself and I want to know how magic hurt you and I want to know what those people did to you and why you have a photograph of a battle’s victory in your bedroom—and I want to know what _happened_ to you because you looked like you were in so much _pain_—Harry, _please_—you have never told me this,” Lizzy says, turning to look at Harry who has gone still. 

“You’re right,” Harry says slowly. “But magic, like all things, is both good and bad. There’s good people, and there’s bad people. When I was growing up, there were a lot of bad wizards—but now there are less, or rather, they’re less violent. Magic hurt me, but it also saved me.” 

“That’s not telling me what happened. I want to know,” she says. “Please, Harry. Tell me.” 

Harry sighs heavily. “I don’t like to talk about it, Liz.” 

“I know—but I need to know what happened so I can really understand what your magic means to you. I want to know the good and the bad.” 

Harry sits still for a while. Lizzy waits patiently for him to gather his words, and then he begins. 

“I was a child of prophecy—yeah, I know, but they’re real. The prophecy foretold that I was destined to defeat the darkest wizard of our time, and that it was either him or me—only one of us could survive. When I was baby, he found where I lived, slaughtered my parents, and tried to kill me. But he failed, and got banished to live as a spirit” Harry says. He traces the barely visible scar on his forehead. “It’s how I got this scar—it’s less noticeable now, but it used to be very prominent.” 

Lizzy nods for him to continue. 

“I grew up with my Aunt and Uncle. My Aunt knew about magic, because her sister, my mother, had it. She was jealous of my mother’s magic, and angry at her for dying—and she took that anger out on me. I told you a bit of how I grew up. I told you it was probably racism—and while that probably contributed, it was mainly because of the fact that I was magical, and they weren’t. 

"But when I was eleven, I got the invitation every magical kid gets to go to Hogwarts—a boarding school for witchcraft and wizardry. It's where you go to learn to become a proper witch or wizard. And I went. I was thrilled—and then I found out I was famous. I was famous because I lived, while my parents died. They called me "The Boy-Who-Lived" and I _still _carry that title everywhere I go in magical Britain. I didn't understand—but I felt responsible to defeat the dark wizard whenever he showed up. I was eleven—my first year, he was possessing a professor. I defeated him then. He showed up every single year, and I practically died every single time we met but somehow I always made it out alive. But it really started to get bad when I was fourteen. That was when I was kidnapped and forced to participate in a ritual to resurrect the dark wizard's body. After that, everything became a lot more dangerous, and people I knew and loved were dying.

"The reason the dark wizard was still alive, despite everything, was because he had split his soul into multiple pieces. As long as he had these pieces, he was tethered to the earth. It made him immortal. As long as he had those pieces, he couldn't die.

"My seventh year—'97—I couldn't go back to Hogwarts. It was taken over by the dark wizard's forces so I spent the entire time searching for his soul tethers. After infiltrating the government headquarters and stealing something from a high-ranking government official, stealing something from a high-security Wizarding bank run by goblins, and searching a castle that was being overrun by the dark wizard's soldiers, I managed to destroy pretty much every remaining soul piece except for one: myself."

Lizzy had been listening and then gasped, “Wait—_you_ were a soul piece? How—how did that affect you—how come he didn’t _know_?” 

Harry sighs. “Apparently, I’m stronger magically than he is. I was able to contain the soul piece with my magic, but it required a lot of strength and energy. It’s why I was so short—I didn’t have any energy to spare to grow since the soul piece was fighting so hard to take control of my body. I had a completely different personality, back then, because of the soul piece. It would leak emotions and feelings and even its preferences so I was much more violent, much angrier, and wanted to fight at every opportunity I could.”

“How did you get it out—you _did_ get it out, right?” Lizzy asks. 

“I did. I walked willingly to my death—I sacrificed myself,” Harry says carefully. “I _died_. The dark wizard killed me. And so the soul piece died—and I was given the choice to die too. But I chose not too, so I could finish the job of ending the dark wizard once and for all.” 

“Wait—Harry, did you just say you _died_?”

Harry nods. “I did—and I’m honestly not making this up. Hardly _anyone_ knows this except for maybe two or three people, and I’m trusting you with this. The secret of these soul shards is something we don’t ever want to be released again—it’s dark magic, and it should be lost.”

Lizzy considers this. “It’s honestly hard to believe,” she says. 

Harry smiles. “Well, I already did the impossible by living when I shouldn’t have once—so really, this wasn’t terribly unexpected. It frightened the dark wizard terribly. He thought I was invincible to the his curses. So then I beat him—and he died. And that was the end of the Battle of Hogwarts.” 

“And who were the two people in that picture with you?”

“Hermione, and Ron,” Harry says. “They were once very good friends of mine, but they... they expected me to stay the same as I was before the soul piece was removed. They never listened to me when I told them that I had fundamentally _changed_ with it gone. With it gone, I didn’t even know what I liked. People kept pressuring me to join elite fighting groups, or the government, or the wizarding law enforcement, but I didn’t want any of that anymore—that was because of the soul piece’s influence. I didn’t know _what_ wanted, so I left. I went and travelled the world for two years and figured out what I wanted to do. When I came back, I made friends with Draco, and Astoria—and built my house—and met you, and I’m happy. I’m truly, _truly_ happy.”

“It’s nice to know that your story has a happy ending, at least,” Lizzy says. “But your childhood—that’s a horrible story.” 

“It’s a famous one. I think there are biographies written about me. I’m the 'Saviour' of the Wizarding world, Lizzy. I don’t like the fame. I hide out here—in peace, and calm, and I use my Indian name and make people sign confidentiality agreements when they hire me to build for them so that they can’t go around and tell people that it’s actually Harry Potter’s company or else we’d be so swamped with work that people would just think the company is popular because of its famous owner instead of the quality work we do,” Harry says. 

“I never considered that,” Lizzy says. She pauses, and then hesitantly says, “So what will they do when they find out about me?”

“It doesn’t matter what the press says. They’re fickle and foolish—and all that matters is what we think of ourselves. It was a hard lesson to learn, personally. But, it helps if you realise none of your family will see the news?” he says, smiling. Lizzy laughs while Harry continues, “I love you more than anything, and I will protect you from as much harm as I can. I may not be able to control the tabloids, but this house is safe from anyone and anything that could possibly ever have malicious intent. You are safe here. Can you feel it?” 

Lizzy nods. “It has felt like home since I first walked in, to be honest,” Lizzy says. “I felt so presumptuous, feeling like that—but I love this house. It feels good to me.” 

Harry grins. “I’m so glad you feel like that—because the house loves you. When you came over for the first time—the magic I used to build this house was going _crazy_, it was _thrilled_. This house never feels as complete as it does when you are here. I want to share it with you—I want it to be _our_ house, Lizzy.”

Lizzy hesitates. “That’s a big step, Harry. You haven’t even met my parents.”

“Introduce me to them—they sound wonderful. And why don’t we have Draco and Astoria over for dinner tonight, okay? You can meet them in a more regular setting?” Harry says. Lizzy nods. 

“I want you to show me more magic,” Lizzy says. Harry grins, and then Lizzy kisses him, and Harry uses magic to pull her closer and so she is now on his lap and she kisses him and then she is crying and Harry asks why she is crying. 

“Because you make so much more sense now,” she says. “You were always withholding something from me—and now I feel like I actually _know_ you. You’re whole now. Magic is such an important part of you—the fact that you can use it freely now matters so much to you, I’m so sorry you couldn’t tell me earlier—why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 

“I was afraid, Lizzy,” Harry says. “I didn’t want you to leave me.” 

“You fool,” Lizzy says. “I’m not leaving you. You terrified me, but I love you—I will go through hell so I can be with you, but you can be _such_ an idiot. You could have told me on the first day and I wouldn’t have turned away.” 

Harry laughs uproariously. “Really, Lizzy? Imagine if we were at the grocers and I pulled out my wand and start waving it around—do you _really_ think you wouldn’t have freaked out a little?” 

Lizzy blushes. “Okay, so that might have been an exaggeration,” she says. “But the point is the same. I love you—I’m not leaving you—I’ll move in but _only_ after you meet my parents and they approve of you. Do we tell them about magic?” 

Harry hesitates and then shakes his head. “Probably not. They won’t know me as well as you do so it won’t seem weird to them, and when they come over, now that I’ve identified everything magical in the house, it only takes about five minutes to put everything away and take it all out again. We can leave the foyer magic-free, in case of random appearances.” 

She smiles. “That sounds like a good plan. But now—I need to actually sit down and talk with your best friend and his wife.” 

Harry smiles and then he drops it suddenly. “Speaking of which—I don’t know if you noticed, but one of my photos upstairs, I have one that has a picture of Astoria’s sister in it. Please, don’t mention her. Her name is Daphne, and she cut off all contact with the family over a radical political issue. It’s very sensitive, and Astoria still has challenges with it, since she and her sister were very close. Just as a forewarning—don’t ask her about siblings. Don’t ask Draco either, he’s an only child. As am I, actually. We’re quite boring, compared to you.” 

“I am curious to see how you will get along with my brother,” Lizzy says. “It should be entertaining, considering he’s very technologically up-to-date and you live in the nineteenth century,” she teases. 

Harry laughs. “I look forward to it too. Should I study up? You can teach me,” he says.

Lizzy shrugs. “I want to see you fail, so no.” 

They smile, kiss, and then head into the kitchen, where Harry dazzles Lizzy with the spells that assist in the cooking process. Periodically, Lizzy exclaims that he must have been so irritated all of the time when they could have been done so much sooner, and every time, Harry says that no, it was worth it, because it was more time spent with you. 

Draco and Astoria arrive that evening. Lizzy is only slightly surprised when they step out of the fireplace—but Harry has explained this is another method of wizarding travel, so she is prepared for it. 

Draco, however, seems surprised to see Lizzy. “Oh, hello again,” he says. 

Harry wraps an arm around Lizzy and smiles. “Draco, Astoria—I’d like you to meet Lizzy. Lizzy, you met Draco this morning, and this is Astoria,” he says. 

Astoria beams and steps forward. “It’s great to meet you, Lizzy. Harry has told us so much about you,” she says. “I’ve needed another girl to spend time with while the boys do their thing—I’m so excited to meet you!”

Lizzy smiles and shakes Astoria’s hand. “Hi, Astoria,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you too; Harry speaks fondly of you.”

Astoria waves her hand dismissively. “Harry does that about everyone—he’s too nice. But _you_? He can’t _stop_ talking about you—it’s been driving me _crazy_!” 

“Tori—please,” Harry says. “Maybe save the embarrassing until after we eat?”

Draco smirks. “Oh no—this is your punishment for making me work alone today. Do you know how awful it was? It was raining all day, and the owner was chuffed to have me work on the exterior since you weren’t there. I know that agreement prevents them from telling anyone, but it doesn’t stop them from treating me like trash,” he says. 

“Wait—he did _what_?” Harry says angrily as they take their seats at the table. Lizzy hesitates at the lack of food on the table, but reminds herself that her world has completely changed today—_magic_ is real. 

“Yeah—the old man is _horrible_ when you aren’t there. I didn’t tell you?” Draco says when he spreads his napkin delicately.

“No, you haven’t,” Harry says. “Otherwise I would’ve done something about it—”

“Oh, stop, no you couldn’t,” Draco says. “I know you like to pretend that it helps, and I know it makes you feel better—but it doesn’t change anything, mate.” 

Harry sighs. 

“What’s he talking about?” Lizzy asks Harry. 

Astoria is the first to answer. “Draco’s parents are pretty horrible people. Racist, prejudiced, frankly, I’d go as far as to call them evil,” she says. “People think he’s just like them when he’s the exact opposite, really, so they treat him poorly and think that he should be punished for their actions.” 

“But you’re not them,” Lizzy says. “You can’t fault the child for the actions of the parent.” 

Draco shrugs. “You can’t change the minds of people who refuse to accept other opinions. I’m not like my parents, but people aren’t going to believe that, so I have to work twice as hard as everyone else to prove that I’m okay.” 

“That’s horrible,” Lizzy says. 

Harry nods. “I’m sorry Draco—you’re right. But you know I rarely miss—and today was _definitely_ your own fault.”

Draco laughs. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. How are you taking it all, Lizzy?” 

Lizzy shrugs. “It’s overwhelming? But it makes everything more clear. I always felt that something was off—and now Harry makes a bit more sense,” she explains.

Their food had appeared on their plates sometime in the last few minutes and they had started eating. She had jumped slightly, but she’s doing that less now—it’s becoming more and more commonplace. She’s getting better at accepting the impossible. 

“Harry’s a bit of an enigma,” Astoria says. “But magic explains a lot about who he is. I can understand feeling like you’re missing a part of who he is if you take the magic away.” 

“I didn’t realise how... how _vital_ it is to who he is,” Lizzy says. “But I suppose I could have never known until this morning. Thanks, Draco, by the way, for your mistake? I’m not really sure what you said that was so suspicious that made Harry decide—I’ve been rethinking all day and I have no idea what triggered this.” 

Harry sets down his fork and buries his head in his hands while Draco just starts laughing. “Merlin—seriously?” Draco says. “I have been worried literally _all day_ that I ruined your relationship and you’re not even sure what compromised the statute?” 

“I mean, there was something about curses, but I’m pretty sure I would have shrugged it off,” Lizzy admits. 

“It’s fine,” Harry says. “I should’ve told Lizzy a while ago—and I’m glad she knows now.” He smiles at her, and she smiles softly back. “Everyone who I care about knows who I am,” he says. 

“Merlin—spare me the romantics,” Draco says. “How long did it take you to believe him?” he asks Lizzy. 

Harry laughs. “She made us go to some petrol station loo after she bought some random antique—she broke it into pieces and then I repaired it. It had to be in an unusual location where I couldn’t have rigged it.” 

Astoria giggles—“Why couldn’t you have made her float or something? Why _reparo_?” 

Harry groans. “That would have been _such_ a better idea.” 

“Can you do that anyways?” Lizzy asks. 

Harry smiles mischievously. “Oh,” he says, “I can do _much_ better than that.” 

Harry spends the next few weeks showing Lizzy everything he can think of about magic. He takes her flying over Loch Awe, he shows her portkeys—his photo album of his parents. He talks about how Draco was that coerced kid in his sixth year who let the enemy soldiers into Hogwarts but that he was threatened—he’s on a probation right now and his every action is carefully monitored. She knows Draco has changed—if what Harry has told her about this Lord Voldemort it is that he was intolerant of non-magical born witches and wizards and non-magicals in general (she learns that most wizards call non-magical people Muggles, and she finds herself admiring Harry even more for his avoidance of the term), and that he was a mass-murdering psychopath. 

She goes through some of Harry’s old journals from his travels to the different countries—she finds one written in Hindi and she wants to read it, but she senses this one is private, and personal, so she sets it aside. 

She spends time with Astoria, who is kind and gentle, and she visits their house once with Harry—and she can tell that Harry built it, but it’s very different than Harry’s. It’s larger, more grand. More posh, and fancier than anything she would ever want for herself. It fits the Malfoy couple, though, and she is impressed with their personalisation efforts. She expected this house to feel the same as Harry’s since it was built with the same method—but it doesn’t. It feels just like any other house. 

So she is happy to return home, to their house on the Loch and feel safe again. She tells Harry about this, and he explains, after a preface to not freak out, that it is because the magic in his house has accepted her as his partner, that it has decided that she is protecting and shielding because she is Harry’s partner (_Harry’s wife_, she thinks to herself and starts to realise she could actually believe this phrase). 

It is Easter when Harry is able to come to Lizzy’s childhood home to meet the Kinnaird family. He is excited—and they take Lizzy’s car. She drives there, and Harry chatters nonstop. 

“I’ve always wanted a family,” Harry says. “It’s why I’ve basically adopted myself into so many. There’s my family in India, there’s Lane and Talia—Astoria’s parents—and well, I guess Draco and Astoria as well—they’re my siblings but also my closest friends. When I was younger I had other pseudo-family, but we don’t talk anymore—they said some terrible things and never saw that I grew up. It’s a shame, but, well, it was Ron’s family—the Weasley’s? The bloke in the photo with me at Hogwarts in ’98?” 

Lizzy nods. 

“Yeah, so apparently he got married to Hermione last year,” Harry says. “I wasn’t invited. I was surprised to find that I was hurt by that, even though I probably wouldn’t have gone. Supposedly it was a small family-only wedding, but there was a point in time where I would’ve been included as part of the family without question. It was a surprise.” 

“But she’s pregnant now,” Harry says, after a pause. “Hermione, that is—I found out through the newspaper. They’re famous too since they were associated with me, back then. So their lives are all over the tabloids. It’s not the way I want to live.” 

They arrive at Lizzy’s home and park the car. Lizzy looks at Harry and smiles. “Alright—so my brother’s name is Andrew, and my sister is Claire. My mum and dad are—” 

“Blair and Ross,” Harry finishes. 

“You’re ready. You look dashing,” Lizzy says. “Now or never.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Harry says. “I’m sure they’re lovely.” 

Harry knocks on the door. He’s carrying their bags so Lizzy can have her hands free as he expects their greeting to be a warm one. 

The door opens by a man he assumes to be Ross Kinnaird. “Elizabeth!” he cries. “Welcome home. And pleasure to meet you, Harry!” 

“Pleasure,” Harry replies, shaking his hand with a smile. Ross is dressed respectably. Their house appears to be well-kept, Harry notes, and he immediately takes in the details of their floorplan unconsciously. 

“How was the travel?” he says amicably, ushering them indoors where he gives Lizzy a great hug.

“It was fine,” Lizzy says. “Hardly any other cars out.” 

“That’s fortunate,” Ross says. “But I suspect most people are going _toward_ your area and not away!” 

Harry laughs. “You’re right—most people leave town!” 

Ross grins. “Well, let me show you where you can put your luggage,” he says, gesturing that they should follow him. “We put you two in the guest room,” he tells Lizzy. “Claire’s in your bedroom since it’s a twin, and well—we didn’t want to _assume_ you were sharing a bed but we figured that if you’re bringing him home you probably are serious about the bloke and already have been for a while.” 

“Well,” Harry says hesitantly, “that’s thoughtful of you.” 

Lizzy blushes. “Oh, dad—you don’t have to embarrass him.” 

Ross just laughs. “Just doing my job. Well—I’ll give you two a minute to settle in, and then how about you two come downstairs when you’re ready?” 

Harry thanks Ross, and then enters the guestroom. It’s a queen bed, although apparently extremely uncomfortable based on the grimace Lizzy makes when she sits on this. 

“God, I forgot how horrible this bed is,” Lizzy says. “Your bed is just so nice.” 

“I can fix it,” Harry suggests. “If you want me too—just for our stay?” 

Lizzy looks thrilled. “You really can? Even though we’re not at your house?” 

Harry shrugs. “As long as no one figures it out, I can use as much magic as I like wherever I am.” 

“Then yes, please! This bed will ruin me,” she says. “My dad pretending to act all generous when he’s really just torturing us all week!”

Harry smiles. “I think it’s kind of funny, honestly,” he says. “It seems like something a dad would do. Make the whole situation more awkward to see how the suitor handles it—I can manage. Don’t worry about it.” 

Lizzy smiles. “Well, work your magic, then let’s have you meet the rest of the family.” 

They head downstairs a few minutes later, but on the way they run into Andrew. 

“This is my brother, Andrew,” Lizzy says. “He’s nice, most of the time. Andrew’s in sixth form, and you’re applying to uni, right?” 

Andrew shakes Harry’s hand. “I see you’re dating my sister,” he says. “And yeah, I’m applying to uni. I was going to go last year, but mum wants me home for as long as possible. You know how that goes, right?”

“I can imagine,” Harry says. He gives Andrew a smile. “Any idea what programmes?” 

“I’m thinking chemistry, but I might do Divinity just to disappoint Mum,” Andrew says. 

Harry laughs. “Those dinner conversations would certainly be unforgettable, I’m sure,” he says. 

They continue downstairs, where he meets Claire and Blair. 

“You must be Harry!” The older woman says. She stands and makes her way over to him and gives him a hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, finally! Lizzy has spoken only fondly about you,” she says. 

Harry smiles. “Oh, God, I hope so,” he says, giving Lizzy a smile, feigning anxiety. “Who knows what sort of false accusations Lizzy could come up with!” 

Lizzy laughs and gives Harry a small nudge. “You’re being silly,” she says. “This is my sister, Claire. She lives in France, remember?” 

“Not anymore!” Claire says, to which Lizzy gasps in excitement. 

“Really? You’re moving back?” Lizzy asks, grasping Claire’s hands. 

“I am,” Claire says with a smile. “Surprise!” 

Lizzy hugs Claire tightly. “I’m so excited! I’ve missed you so much! Where are you going to stay?” 

Claire shrugs. “Where ever I get a job, I suppose. My branch closed, so we were all let go—and I figured I might as well come back home.” 

Harry stands off to the side. He’s smiling—he knows how much Lizzy has missed Claire. 

“Well, try somewhere nearby! Harry—build her a house! That’ll convince her to stay near us!” Lizzy exclaims. 

Harry raises his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Oh?” 

“Lizzy! How is he supposed to build me a house? He can’t just do that—by the way, nice to meet you, Harry,” Claire says. Harry returns the greeting.

“He does it all the time,” Lizzy says off-handed. “It’ll be no problem.” 

“Lizzy, you can’t just ask your boyfriend to build me a _house_,” Claire says, slightly embarrassed. Ross and Blair also seem slightly taken aback by this. “He probably doesn’t even know _how_!” 

Harry can’t help but laugh at this. He’s about to explain when a timer goes off somewhere in the house, and Blair announces that dinner is ready. 

They head to the dining room, where Ross separates Lizzy and Harry on opposite sides of the table. Harry offers to help, but he is told to sit tight. Lizzy smiles weakly. “I think you’re about to be interrogated,” she says. 

Harry smiles. “I’ve been through worse,” he says with a wink. “I like them. They remind me of you.” 

Lizzy smiles. 

When the meal has started a few minutes later, Ross takes on a serious expression. “So, Harry—where are you from?” 

“In what way?” Harry asks cautiously. 

“Where did you grow up?” Ross says. “Sorry—bad question.” 

“Surrey—in Little Whinging,” Harry says.

“Are your parents still there?” Ross says—with a panicked hissed _Dad_ from Lizzy.

“No,” Harry says. “I’m an orphan, actually. My parents died when I was baby. I grew up with my aunt and uncle.” 

Ross is taken aback. “Oh, I’m sorry—forgive me,” he says. 

“Oh, not a problem,” Harry says. “You didn’t know.” 

“Well then, your aunt and uncle? Are they still there? What do they do?” Ross says. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says carefully. “I haven’t spoken with them in almost a decade.”

Ross furrows his brow. “Why’s that?” 

Lizzy interrupts—“Dad, can we not talk about Harry’s family right now? It’s not really dinner conversation.” 

Ross exchanges a cautious glance with Blair. Andrew and Claire are darting looks at Harry with obvious confusion. 

“Liz, it’s alright. It’s just probably not an encouraging sign, is all—their first question and it’s about the Dursleys,” Harry says, giving Lizzy a smile before turning to give Ross and Blair a measured glance. “They were cruel to me, and hated me. While they never kicked me out, they were abusive. I fled their home, and haven’t spoken to them since for my own safety, and theirs.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Blair gasps. “You poor child. How did you escape? Did you live on the streets?” 

“I had some friends who took me in,” Harry says. 

“Hold up—wait a minute,” Claire interjects. “Did you say the _Dursleys_? Are you talking about Petunia and Vernon Dursley?” 

Harry looks at her peculiarly. “Yes, I am.”

“Dear God—_you’re _their nephew? Holy shite—did you hear that they went on trial a few years ago and are in prison now for _your_ case?” Claire says, shocked. 

“What? How—I never testified, how could that happen?” Harry asks, unsettled. He sets down his silverware and wrings his hands beneath the tablecloth. 

“A preponderance of evidence? Photographs of living spaces, child drawings in their home—numerous locks and a dog flap on an upstairs bedroom—my _God_, Harry lived under the _stairs_ in a cupboard for most of his childhood,” Claire says to her parents and Andrew. “And when he was too big, they locked him upstairs and pushed food every once in a while through the _dog flap_.” 

Harry is sitting stiffly, with his lips pursed. While he was fine with just a basic explanation that they were abusive, the fact that Claire somehow knows all of the horrific details of his childhood and is _telling everyone_ is mortifying. 

“Claire—please, stop,” Lizzy cries out when Claire is starting to rattle off more horrific facts. “Stop—this is _private_!” 

Claire suddenly closes her mouth and covers it with her hand. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—Harry—I’m so sorry, I got carried away.” 

Harry struggles to say something. 

Andrew looks at Harry and Claire and Lizzy and his parents, and then laughs half-hearted. “Well, I knew this was going to be an interrogation of Harry, but I didn’t think we were going to literally put him on trial,” Andrew says in an attempt to lighten the mood. “The food’s really good, mum.” 

Harry adds his thanks for the meal. He speaks softly, “Yes, thank you, Blair. It’s delicious.” 

Blair, feeling incredible uncomfortable, smiles in return. She opens her mouth to say something, and then closes it again.

Andrew, realising his attempts failed, tries again: “Uh, me mates and I are planning to set off fireworks underneath the bridge downtown.”

“That’s nice, Andrew,” Ross says. It is a clear dismissal and Andrew is irritated. The rest of the table is sitting in tense silence.

“Because of this, I’ll get expelled so I’ll have no choice but to become a clown,” Andrew says.

Nothing.

“When I’m a clown, I will become so good that the Queen of England will hire me!” 

Andrew waits and he is slightly flabbergasted that this gets him no response.

“But instead of my act, I’ll actually be a suicide bomber and explode all of Buckingham Palace,” Andrew says. When nothing occurs, he continues. “And so I will go down in history as the clown that killed the Queen.” 

But no one says anything and they’re tensely picking at their food and Claire is looking so sorry it’s painful to look at, and Harry is uncomfortable, Lizzy feels bad for Harry because he’s just been eviscerated by their sister, and Andrew’s mum and dad are slightly horrified and now don’t know how to act around the abused kid who is now dating their daughter. Andrew is irritated because this literally causes _no difference_ and changes nothing about Harry except his past is a bit awful to think about.

He slams his hand on the table to get everyone’s attention. They all jump (except Harry who just looks at him quizzically, which Andrew admits is very cool) and Andrew says, “What the fuck, mates? Harry’s just the same as he was ten minutes ago. Don’t treat him all weird now because you learned something unsavoury about his past. Also Claire—good job, we admire your appreciation for gruesome details about the cases you work on, but shut the fuck up. No one wants to hear that when we’re eating. Have some _tact_, didn’t the French teach you anything—or were you too busy buggering every bloke you saw so the only things you learned were on how to be a good whore?” 

“Andrew!” Blair exclaims at the profanity. “Apologise to your sister.”

But Claire is laughing and waving her hands in a _no, no, he doesn’t need to apologise_ gesture. Then Lizzy is smiling broadly because she thinks Andrew is _brilliant_. 

“It’s funny,” Claire laughs and says at the same time, “because I’m lesbian.”

Blair is surprised so much she jerks in her seat. “_What_? Since when?”

“My whole life?” Claire says, wiping her eyes. “So, _no_, Andrew, I wasn’t buggering every bloke.” 

Andrew snorts. “Oh, God help me—my insult was wrong! How dare I assume your sexuality! You were buggering every _bird_!”

This sends Claire into another fit of giggles, which to Lizzy’s surprise, she finds herself laughing as well. 

“Since when has she been a lesbian, Ross?” Blair asks her husband. Ross shrugs. 

“Mum—France is a lot more liberal about homosexuality, so I felt more comfortable coming out over there,” Claire says. “You’re okay with it?” 

Blair shrugs. “I’m just surprised, is all. I don’t care who you ‘_bugger_’ so long as they’re respectable and you’d be happy to bring them home.” 

Harry listens to Lizzy’s family with a smile on his face. He wants this, he realises. A family, where they feel completely comfortable being entirely themselves with each other. He wants this with Lizzy. 

Dinner resumes comfortably. When asked about his occupation, Harry says, “I’ve my own architectural firm.” 

“You inherited?” Ross asks. 

Harry shakes his head. “No, I started it myself.”

“It’s really successful,” Lizzy says. “They’ve a commission waiting list for custom homes—and how long is it right now?” 

“We’ve about thirty different commissions on the list right now,” he says. “But we’re adding about one a week.”

“Wow!” Ross says. “How many do you have working for you?” 

Harry hesitates. “Well—we’ve only one other designer, including myself,” he says. He can’t talk about the construction side of the company so he ignores it. 

“That’s incredible,” Ross says. “A real entrepreneur!” 

Harry smiles. “Thank you. I found out it was my passion when I was travelling after I graduated,” he says. “So when I returned to the UK I decided to build myself a house with everything I learned. When I realised I had a talent for it along with the passion, I made the company.” 

Blair’s eyes widen. “You built your own house?” 

“It’s amazing, Mum,” Lizzy says. “Absolutely incredible. It’s on Loch Awe and the whole house is just built so _perfectly_.”

“I think she likes the house better than me, sometimes,” Harry says to laughter. 

“Well, we’d love to see photos if you have any!” Ross says. 

“I’ve taken some photos,” Lizzy says. Harry knows what she’s talking about. She had asked to take some photos of his house (it was a hobby of hers, she said). Luckily, thanks to the muggle camera, the magical items didn’t need to be removed. “If you have a computer and an HDMI cable we can hook it up to the telly so everyone can see them.” 

Andrew perks up. “Give me your camera, and I’ll set it up,” he says. 

Lizzy thanks him, and goes upstairs for a moment then returns with her camera’s SD card. “Your computer has the right adaptor for this, right?”

He looks at it, then nods. “I’ll set it up and call when it’s ready.”

While Andrew prepares the telly for the photos, Claire shows Lizzy something on the first floor, so Harry helps Blair and Ross clean up after dinner. They ask him more questions about his life. He answers them thoughtfully. When they ask him about politics, he answers that he frankly isn’t very aware, but he trusts in Lizzy so he figures that whatever she’s for, he should be. This pleases them—they declare him suitable, and then Ross slaps his shoulder and says that he’s never seen Lizzy so happy before and Harry admits that he’s never been so happy before either. This makes Blair almost cry, which was not Harry’s intention, so he tries to back up and says he _was_ happy as a kid—but Blair ignores this and hugs Harry tightly and whispers in his ear that she is so sorry for the suffering he went through as a child and that their family will never do anything like that to him. Harry is touched, and he gives Blair a squeeze and thanks her for her kindness. Blair smiles and then grabs Harry’s shoulders and looks him straight in the eyes and says, “You’re good for Lizzy. But you take care of her, okay? She’ll take care of you—and we’ll take care of you, now.”

Harry promises he will. “Every day,” he says. “I love her.” 

Ross shakes Harry’s hand instead of giving him a hug. “I’m glad you do. She’s worthy of love.” 

“I’m hardly worthy of hers.” Harry says, “I’d give her the entire world if she let me.” 

They are called into the living room after Ross pats Harry’s shoulder and calls him a _good man_. Lizzy appears, gives him an inquiring look, to which Harry returns with a smile and a reassuring nod. She looks relieved and then goes toward Andrew who is handing over the controls to her. 

The first photograph on the telly is one of the sky. “Nice house,” Andrew quips. 

“Thank you, it’s invisible,” Harry drawls. 

Lizzy snorts and then advances the photo. She took this one facing the driveway from the garage Harry recently added for her car. It’s a nice view of the forest behind his home. “This is the driveway to his home,” she says.

“Oh! It’s isolated, then,” Blair says. 

Harry nods as Lizzy moves forward to show the rear of the house. “And this is the view you get when you arrive down the driveway.”

Harry is proud of his house. The photographs don’t do it justice, but he appreciates the compliments he receives as Lizzy progresses through her photographic house tour. When she changes to the photograph of the kitchen, Blair exclaims, “Good heavens—do you actually use that Harry?”

Lizzy beams. “That’s how we met, remember? We both happened to be making pad thai on the same night and so we kept running into each other at the grocers. He’s a great cook,” she proudly says.

“Nice,” Claire says. She looks like she wants to say more, but stops herself. Harry wonders what she was going to say, but the conversation progresses as they advance throughout the rest of the house. 

“That was lovely, Harry. Did you have help with the décor?”

“No,” Harry says. 

“There was a lot of your stuff in there, Lizzy,” Andrew says, smirking. “You _sure_ you’re not already living with Harry?”

Lizzy blushes. “Andrew! No, I’m not. It’s just... sometimes it’s just easier to leave stuff there.” 

“But does Harry mind?” Ross asks. 

“Not at all,” Harry says with a smile. “It makes the house feel more lived-in.” 

And it does, magically. Lizzy doesn’t quite understand how this works, and neither does Harry, but she accepted it and so has started to leave more and more of her toiletries, clothes, and other miscellaneous items at Harry’s home over the past weeks after Harry told her about the house’s magic. 

But to the rest of the Kinnaird family, they are slightly confused by this statement, but just assume that Harry is so smitten with love for Lizzy that he doesn’t care if she leaves her stuff everywhere. While this is true in its own rights, it is not the reason behind Harry’s words. 

At the end of the house photos, Blair says, “Well, at least I know why Lizzy said Harry could build you a house, Claire.”

Claire laughs awkwardly. “I’m good, no thanks.” She’s been quiet ever since she tried to say something earlier but stopped herself. 

It is late, so they go to bed. Lizzy and Harry lay in bed together. “That went well, didn’t it?” Lizzy says. 

“Yeah, I like them,” Harry says. “But—but how did Claire _know_ all of that about me? It’s really disconcerting, frankly.” 

“We can ask her? Do you want to, right now?” Lizzy asks. Harry shrugs. 

“We might as well—get it off my mind,” Harry sighs, and then sits up. He puts a shirt on, and tosses Lizzy her dressing gown. 

“I’ll go get her—you stay here,” Lizzy says. She returns less than a minute later with Claire in tow. Claire looks terrified.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts. “I—I didn’t realise who you _were_ until we were looking at your house, and then—oh my god, I’m so sorry!” 

“Claire, what are you talking about?” Lizzy says, shooting Harry a look.

“I mean, you’re _Harry Potter_,” Claire emphasizes, looking desperately at Harry. He immediately understands and sighs heavily, looking at the ceiling. So much for anonymity in this family. 

“Of course he is! But what’s the big deal?” Lizzy says, confused. Claire’s eyes widen dramatically and then she covers her mouth in horror and starts backing up shaking her head.

“Hold up, Claire, Lizzy knows about magic. You don’t have to dance around anything right now,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair. 

“Oh God—thank God—I would have been so upset if she didn’t know and you were—I would’ve been so,” Claire struggles for words, but she relaxes slightly. 

“How on earth did you figure out that Claire knew about magic?” Lizzy says, stunned.

“The way she said my name,” Harry says. “Only fans say it like that.” 

“I’m not a fan!” Claire says. “But I never—I never connected the dots, you know—between the Dursley case and that you were, you know—_you_—and so when I saw your _scar_ then I panicked and didn’t know what to do. Does _no one_ know in the Wizarding world how _bad_ they were to you?” 

“Back up a bit—how do you know about magic in the first case?” Lizzy says adamantly. “Harry told me everything—but who told _you_?” 

“I learned when I was asked to prosecute the Dursley case,” Claire whispers. 

“Who asked you to?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know—I can’t—it was some girl—she was British, she was blonde and her name started with a D—maybe something like Darcy? Or—” 

“Was it Daphne?” Harry asks weakly. “A Daphne Greengrass?” 

“That was it! It was Daphne. Anyways, she came to me—gave me a whole _stack_ of evidence, and told me that I needed to put these people in prison. She helped me, kept telling me about the evidence, and about magic and that she was magical—that the nephew had magic which was why they were so afraid, but I played up the racism part because _our _courts don’t believe in magic, you know—” 

“When was this?” Harry says. Lizzy remembers the story—that Daphne was like a sister to Harry, who had cut all ties to the family because of some strange radical ideas that she had taken to believing in thanks to the help of her boyfriend—and that this must be devastating. She prays it was before 2003. 

“About two years ago—the end of 2004,” Claire says. “It was an easy case—they had hospital records and everything—God, Harry, you should’ve _died_.” 

“_Hospital records_?” Harry says.

“I was told that you had—oh, no—you didn’t agree to _any_ of this, did you?” Claire says.

“Not at all. I was happy to let them live their lives without me ever affecting them again,” Harry says despondently. “And for them—for them to think _I_ put them in prison—my God, that’s awful.”

“You _forgave_ them? You don’t _want_ them in jail?” Claire asks completely perplexed. 

“Of course I _want_ them in jail but they don’t _belong_ there—so of _course_ I forgave them. There were—there were extenuating circumstances, and it made perfect sense _why_ they were so awful, now that I think about it,” Harry says, rubbing his forehead. 

“There’s no excuse for child abuse,” Claire says angrily. “You can’t argue that.” 

Harry nods. “Yes—but—oh, Merlin—never mind. You’re right,” Harry says half-heartedly. He’s concentrated on something else entirely now. “Thank you for telling me. Have you spoken to Daphne since?” 

Claire shakes her head. “No, not at all. She just told me this was important to her—to get justice for the nephew—for _you_, I guess.” 

“She would’ve seen it that way,” Harry says. “Thanks, Claire. Please—just act _normally_ around me. I’m just a normal person. I grew up in a weird way and there was the whole destroying of the dark wizard thing—but I’m just a normal guy now. I _want_ to be just a normal guy, so please don’t forget that.”

Claire pauses, and then nods. “Okay, Harry. Thank you,” she says, and then leaves. 

Lizzy has been silent this whole time. “Harry—when you were talking about extenuating circumstances—were you talking about the soul pieces?”

“The horcrux, yes,” Harry says, rubbing his scar. “It influenced me, and it was around the Dursley’s the most besides me, and it’s entirely plausible it affected them when it couldn’t bother me—so they might not have even _wanted_ to hurt me, but the horcrux _made_ them. Lizzy, I can’t blame them for that.” 

“So what do we do?” Lizzy asks as she curls herself into Harry’s side. 

“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do,” Harry says. “Maybe visit them?” 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Lizzy says quietly. “It could do more harm than good.” 

“You might be right,” Harry says. “But I feel obligated now. And why would Daphne _do_ that?” 

“I don’t know,” Lizzy says. “Maybe she felt bad and wanted to show she cares?”

“Or her group still wants me to join them and they consider this their courting of me?” Harry suggests. 

“I like my idea better,” Lizzy says. “I’m sorry today was difficult. I didn’t realise that so much would be... laid bare?”

Harry laughs. “No, me neither. But it’s okay. I like your family,” he says. “I want ours to be like it.” 

Lizzy smiles widely. “Our family? Getting mighty presumptuous there.”

“I hope not,” Harry says. “You know what I want for us one day, right?” 

Lizzy nods sleepily. “But I could always use a reminder,” she murmurs while closing her eyes. 

Harry kisses her softly and begins to whisper to her about how their future will be with each other for eternity—endless—and she falls into a peaceful sleep. 

A day or so later, Lizzy is standing in the kitchen with her mother after Harry was discovered to be technological inept and subsequently commandeered by Andrew for the rest of the afternoon. 

“Do you like him?” Lizzy asks her mum nervously. 

Blair looks at Lizzy intently. “Oh, Lizzy. Lizzy, we love him. He’s a wonderful guy. He’s kind and helpful—and he loves _you_. But the question you need to be asking is not whether _we_ like him but if _you_ want to spend the rest of your life with him. It’s clear as day to us that he’s madly in love with you. You know, he asked your father for permission to propose to you, just the other day?”

Lizzy gasps. “He did _what_?” 

“He asked permission,” Blair says. “Quite formally, if you ask me. He had a whole list of reasons why he would be a good husband for you in case we objected, but we don’t _care_ about that—we care about you and if you’ll be happy with him.” 

Lizzy leans against the counter. “Oh, wow.” 

“Would you be happy with him?” Blair asks. “Do you see yourself with him, for the rest of your life? Can you imagine marrying him? And do you _want_ to? Those are the questions you need to ask yourself. And I can’t answer them for you. What I can say, is that we approve of him full-heartedly. Harry is a wonderful man. Your sister and brother will be hard-pressed to find anyone who can compare to him—and I’m afraid they’ll be let down.”

“I’m scared,” Lizzy confesses. 

“Well, that’s alright,” Blair says. “Being scared of change is normal. But is your fear greater than your excitement?” 

Lizzy doesn’t answer, so Blair continues, “Just let me know when you’re going to have the wedding. I’ll start looking around for you. I’ve always wanted to plan another wedding, and I think you’d do a horrible job.”

“Mum!” Lizzy exclaims. “Really?”

“Oh, I’m just teasing,” Blair says with a laugh. “But I’ll be honest, I’ve seen the way you look at him—what you have together is _real_.” 

Lizzy smiles. “Thank you, Mum.”

Blair shakes her head. “Don’t thank me, thank Harry. He told me you’d probably need a pep talk,” she says.

Lizzy shakes her head in exasperation. “That man,” she says fondly. “He knows me so well it frightens me.”

“In a good way?” Blair asks. 

“In a good way,” Lizzy confirms. “I love him,” she says. “I really do.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

The rest of the holiday goes well, and so they leave with good memories and return home. When Harry asks Lizzy to move in, she agrees. 

Lizzy is happy. Her life with Harry is a good one. She is working at the nearby clinic and finds her work fulfilling. Harry is happy working with Draco, and everything seems to be going well for several months. 

Harry receives an owl—which still confuses Lizzy (who _trains_ the birds?)—and since he is away, Lizzy opens it for him as he’s repeatedly told her how much he _hates_ getting post.

It’s a letter announcing the birth of a baby girl named Rose. Lizzy has to sit down to read the note.

_Harry,_

_Hermione had a baby girl. Her name is Rose, and she’s beautiful. Thought you would like to know. _

_Ron_

It’s a short letter. It’s an impersonal letter, and Lizzy can’t help but be furious at the _audacity_ of these people. They didn’t invite him to their wedding and then Ron decides to write a barely legible note announcing that he has a daughter because he _thought Harry might like to know_. 

She doesn’t understand. Harry speaks fondly of the couple—but only when he talks about his years at Hogwarts. After the horcrux was removed, it was like it had changed them. When Lizzy had suggested this—that maybe the horcrux was influencing them as well—Harry was initially resistant to the idea. “I don’t want to think that my entire childhood, people were friends with the _monster_ inside of me.” 

But Lizzy was quick to respond: “They _weren’t_. They were friends with the _you_ that resisted the monster. And now that the monster’s gone, you don’t have to spend your energy resisting and fighting for _life_, so you’ve become calmer, more peaceful, and happier.”

Harry had sighed. “I want to apologise for it, but it’s not something that’s really my fault, though.” 

Lizzy had nodded. “And it’s not—Voldemort’s _gone_. He’s never coming back and you will never have to have him interfere with your life ever again.” 

“But he still is!” Harry argued. “He still _is _interfering! With how I grew up—your sister, she knows all of these awful facts about me when I wasn’t _me_ and there’s hordes of people out there who think they know me but they don’t!” 

Lizzy shook her head, “They don’t matter—the only people that matter love _you_. The real you. And I would have loved you even before the horcrux was removed—I _know _it. I feel it in my very bones—and I love you, and so ignore everyone else.”

So the fact that Ronald Weasley has written so bluntly to Harry is an insult to Harry’s recovery from the horrors of his youth. Harry’s 26 now. It’s not even a decade since he’s lost the horcrux. He’s still so young. Lizzy does admit that Rose is a cute child, but that doesn’t slow her anger. 

When Harry returns home that evening, Lizzy shows him the letter and accompanying photo and watches his face intently. It doesn’t even change – and then he sets the note down. 

“I’m going to go for a run. Do you want to come?” Harry says in a flat monotone. 

“Will you run slow enough for me?” she asks. Harry shakes his head. “Then no. I’ll stay here. Don’t be gone long. Run to the Malfoy’s and back—that’s a good distance, okay?” 

Harry nods. Lizzy can only imagine what Harry must be feeling—a mixture of sorrow and confusion and loss. Although they both knew Hermione was pregnant, the fact that the child is now born—something else is stinging Harry’s heart. 

Lizzy sits up for Harry until he returns. She doesn’t expect him to return by foot—she’s expecting him to fall out of the floo, drunken and sad. 

So when he doesn’t fall out of the floo hours later, Lizzy is slightly surprised. The door swings open, and Lizzy shrieks and is terrified of the shadowed man in the doorstep until it says her name in Harry’s voice. He steps into the light and he is panting and leaning against the doorway. He looks like he jumped in the lake—and he informs Lizzy he did exactly that. He _swam_ across the lake. 

“Lizzy—I need to tell you something. You _know_ I want a family with you—you _know_ I want to marry you. But—but Lizzy—” Harry says, and then he is crying and Lizzy is confused and she doesn’t know what is going on. She knows this goes far beyond the letter, and she doesn’t really _want_ to get wet but she knows that whatever Harry is trying to tell her is more important than her comfort. 

So she goes to him and she holds his arms and she undresses him out of his wet, dripping clothes and she leads him upstairs into the shower where she turns the water warm. He is crying, and doesn’t talk because every time he tries, he chokes. 

She joins him in the shower and hugs him so very tightly under the spray. “What is it, Harry? You can tell me anything?” 

Harry pulls her close to him and tries to find the words. “Liz—oh, God, Liz—I should’ve told you this sooner but I didn’t want to believe it,” he starts. “But—but I can’t have kids. I can’t have kids—it’s—the—the _horcrux_—it took that away from me, I swear—but that’s all I want with you—I want a family and children and—you probably don’t want to marry me now because—but I _love_ you—I love you so _much_ it _hurts_.” 

Lizzy stands with him. She is slowly coming to terms with this. “There’s no magical cure?” she asks timidly.  
  
She cannot see him, but she can feel him shaking his head. “I looked into it—back when I found out—and there’s nothing. No research—they’ve never seen anything like it before so—so—I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have _lied—_I should have _told you_—”

“You never lied to me, Harry,” Lizzy says carefully. “You never told me you could. But I’m glad you’re telling me now so I don’t ever wonder why we haven’t been able to have kids when we’re married. I wish you told me sooner, but I am glad you told me. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you.”

“But what about kids? I _know_ you want some of your own. I can’t give you that,” Harry says desolately. “I can’t give you children.”

“I don’t need that,” Lizzy decides. “I don’t need that. I have you. And—we can adopt. We can adopt kids, when we’re ready. We’re not ready for kids right now, anyways. And this way—this way I can go off my birth control and that’s just convenient.”

“Liz—how—why are you reacting so _well_ to this?” Harry says. Lizzy cannot tell if he is crying or if that is just the water from the shower. “I—I may not have _lied_ but I didn’t _tell_ you when you told me that we would have no more secrets. I broke my promise—why aren’t you furious?” 

“Because I can see how much this hurts you,” Lizzy says. “I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t hurt me. It does. I wish you had told me sooner—I really do. But it wouldn’t have changed _anything_ about our relationship.”

“I should’ve told you sooner—I was so afraid. It’s why I haven’t proposed yet—I _needed_ you to know but I was so afraid to tell you,” Harry says. 

“Harry—just take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay,” Lizzy says. “I _love_ you. I am _never_ leaving you. We are going to work through this, and we are going to be okay, I swear.”

And then Harry really does start to cry—and Lizzy understands that Harry has been torn over this for many years—he frequently talks about how much he wants a family, how he searches for families wherever he goes. He’s never had parents, true parents—he _wants_ children, desperately. And then to have that so _cruelly_ taken away because of an evil, evil man. How devastating this must be to him—to have everything he’s wanted in life be virtually impossible. 

Lizzy holds Harry that night. She tells him that she loves him no matter what, with or without children. Because what they have transcends traditional relationships. She mentions the house—who else has a relationship a _house_ likes? This makes Harry laugh—and so Lizzy tells him about the odds—a magical _hero_ and _celebrity_ falling in love with some nobody non-magical nurse and then Harry kisses her hard and tells her she’s not a nobody—that he’ll tell the whole world that Elizabeth Kinnaird is a _somebody_ and that she is _his_. 

Harry proposes two weeks later. They went on a hike; one of their favourites in the area, to a small glen. There’s a small grove of trees that Harry has created a bench in where they sit and Lizzy tells Harry about her week—and then Harry is on his knee, telling Lizzy that the past few years have been wonderful because she has been in it, and that he hopes Lizzy stays in his life forever and would she please marry him—and then Lizzy says yes, and they kiss and then they walk back to the house and Lizzy is happy. When Lizzy calls her mom that night, Blair is ecstatic for her, but also reprimands Harry about how long it took him to ask. 

They invite Ross and Blair and Andrew to the house a few weeks later. Liz watches Harry “de-magic” the house with almost bored interest. The Malfoys are with them—and Liz doesn’t realise that the magic Harry uses is on a different level than everyone else’s until Astoria shakes her head and talks about how unfair it is that Harry doesn’t even have to use his wand if he fancies—and so Liz begins to notice how Astoria and Draco must use their wands for any piece of magic but Harry seems to be completely unattached to it.

Liz asks Astoria about this. “Why do you and Draco use your wands so much? Doesn’t that get a bit tedious?” 

Astoria laughs incredulously. “Oh, Liz—you don’t understand—it’s because we _have_ to. We can’t do magic without our wands. Harry—he’s on a whole different _plane_ of magic. He interacts with it so very differently than anyone else I know that the wand practically slows him down. I’ve never seen anyone so in tune with magic before. He’s the most powerful wizard I’ve ever seen—and to be frank, probably the most powerful wizard that the _world_ will ever see.” 

Liz is surprised. “Really? But he’s so—”

“Normal? Yeah, that’s what makes him so special,” Astoria says. “And what makes him even more powerful. He doesn’t want it to rule the world even though he so _easily_ could. He just wants to build _houses_.” Astoria shakes her head in disbelief. “Liz, I’ve never met a more genuinely _good_ person than Harry. He has the power to destroy everything, to lead armies and lead revolutions, to wreak havoc on a completely unprecedented scale. But he deliberately and _knowingly_ chooses not to. People come up to him all the time, according to Draco, _begging_ him to fight for them, and he says no every single time.” 

“He never tells me this,” Liz says. 

“Why would he?” Astoria says. “He doesn’t think it’s important. He has everything he has ever wanted. He doesn’t _want_ anything these people can offer him. And it happens so frequently he probably doesn’t even realise it’s not something that happens to other people. It’s commonplace for him. It’s ordinary. If you ask him about it, he’ll tell you, but he will never know it’s strange unless you point it out to him. It’s why Draco hasn’t—he knows how much Harry just wants to be normal, and he doesn’t want to do anything to destroy that illusion.”

Lizzy leans back against a chair. “Jesus Christ, Tori,” she says. “Harry doesn’t do anything by halves, does he?” 

“No—and he never will. I don’t think he knows how,” she says. “But he’s done a whole lot of good. His friendship with Draco has completed changed Draco’s life. Draco is so much happier—and who would have thought?” 

Lizzy smiles. “Harry’s pretty incredible,” she says. Astoria agrees. 

Andrew, when he sees the house, is suitably impressed. He claims the guest bedroom with the image of Hogwarts, while Blair and Ross take the one with the portrait of Harry’s parents. 

The portrait of Harry’s parents is different than other wizarding portraits, according to Harry, because it was painted after their death. So while they talk, they’re actually not accurately depicting the personalities of his real parents.

Liz is entertaining Blair and Ross, when Andrew asks Harry if he wants to go outside. Harry obliges and so the two of them head outside. 

“So, you’re going to marry my sister,” Andrew says when they’re a few meters away from the house. 

“We’re planning on it,” Harry says. 

“So we’re going to be brothers, in a way,” Andrew says. 

“I guess so?” Harry says.

“I’ve never had a brother before.”

“Me neither,” Harry says. “Where are you going with this?”

“To be honest, I’m not really sure. But it’s kind of cool, I guess,” Andrew says. “But I mean, you could teach me cool things—like, like how to get girls or how to shave or stuff like that.”

Harry laughs. “I mean, I could do that,” he says. “But to be honest, the only reason your sister fancied me was because I could cook.”

But Harry likes the idea—so Andrew and Harry keep in closer contact. Harry _takes Andrew under his wing_, so to say. And they have a good friendship—and life is good.

Harry marries Lizzy on a snowy day in January in 2008. The wedding is small; and everyone is content.

Marriage suits the couple, and they are happy.

A year passes—then two.

And then—

Like all things, everything changes.


	6. 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a castle falls apart.

**VI. 2010**

Four students. Four first years—a Ravenclaw and three Hufflepuffs. Sarah is the Ravenclaw. She is the only one who survived.

When Sarah wakes up in the Hospital Wing with only one leg, to simply be told that somehow the staircase they were walking on broke in half, killing the three Hufflepuffs she was with and crushing her left leg beyond repair – _because potions can only do so much_ – it takes all of her effort to not scream. This isn’t supposed to be what Hogwarts is about. Hogwarts is supposed to be _safe_ now. Now that Harry Potter got rid of You-Know-Who, Hogwarts shouldn’t have stairs breaking and people dying anymore. Madam Pomfrey has to coax the girl a sleeping potion to try to calm her mournful hysteria.

But the stairs are breaking. The grand staircases—that beautiful marble that has for generations upon generations moved so gracefully from landing to landing, transporting students up and down the castle without even a hint of its age—have broken. They have shattered. The sound was enormous. The Ravenclaw girl was lucky enough to be on the far side of the flight of stairs so that only her leg was crushed. The three Hufflepuff girls were not as lucky. The entire stairwell collapsed. Seven floors of marble. Thank Merlin there were only those four students on the stairs at the time.

What would they have done if it had been a passing period?

When they try to figure out who the culprit was, they call in the aurors to no avail. The aurors cannot find any evidence of foul play. One of them (he is originally from the Continent, so his ignorance can partially be forgiven) even has the audacity to suggest that “they were pretty old, Ma’am,” and that maybe they should have replaced the stairs sooner.

Needless to say, the other aurors quickly straighten him out.

But since there suddenly is a lack of stairs in the castle, they seek the help of magical architects. A junior professor mentions that “Living Stone Architecture” is rumoured to be the best magical masonry in the country. She mentions that there is a pretty impressive secrecy contract involved with it, though, to keep the owners privacy, but that it is worth it. Since Hogwarts certainly deserves the best, they send out the junior professor—the new Divination professor, who keeps speaking about strange creatures but gets along very well with Hagrid (but weren’t all Divination professors a bit eccentric?)—to see about obtaining an estimate.

They also hope that this company might be willing to take a look at the castle and see if there are other aspects that can be improved to prevent another tragic accident—if it isn’t sabotage after all.

The junior professor returns and says that the owners decided that their privacy contract wouldn’t really work very well in this situation considering that the students couldn’t sign it and they would undoubtedly be seen. The teachers realise this is correct, and one begins to bewail loudly about how Hogwarts is going to have to resign themselves to hire “Archie’s Arches” for the repairs. So when the junior professor announces that the owner will visit “maybe tomorrow,” all of the staff release a breath that they did not realise they were holding. And then she says that they request that the Headmistress inform the students tonight about leaving the workers alone so that they will not get mobbed.

“Who are these people?” the Headmistress asks. “Should I be expecting Harry Potter himself?”

When the junior professor does not laugh, the Headmistress realises that the Boy-Who-Lived had made quite an unexpected career change. 

“Well then, I suppose that certainly explains the secrecy contract. He always wanted his privacy,” the Headmistress says. “I’ll tell them tonight. How many workers should we expect?”

“Oh, there’s only two of them,” the junior professor says.

Shrugging, the professors carry on. It is exciting that Harry Potter himself will be coming to fix the castle. Besides, their work has been doubled as they have to both deal with traumatised children and determine how to organise alternative routes to classrooms that are now completely destroyed. Maybe after the stairs are fixed they can put this all behind them so everyone can move on.

“Maybe tomorrow” arrives, and the morning heralds the arrival of Harry Potter and his companion. When the students catch a glimpse of the workers, it is only due to the strict warning they had received at dinner the night before that keeps them from stampeding, both away from and towards the two visitors. 

To the bewilderment of the Headmistress, it isn’t Ron Weasley at Harry Potter’s side, but rather Draco Malfoy. She faintly recalls that Draco Malfoy _is _in fact Harry’s good friend—that Harry was even Draco’s best man—but she is afraid that she hadn’t kept in contact with the once-favoured student, so she cannot tell you who they had married. To continue her confusion, the two men do not stop to greet the professors, but instead walk directly into the ruins of what remains of the staircases.

Draco Malfoy kneels among the marble dust and traces his wand along the edge of one of the larger pieces before clearing two edges of the stairwell. He walks along the edges, dragging his wand along the stone walls. Parchment and quill hover over his shoulder, copying his every word. Harry Potter seems almost bored as he looks up through the now empty vaulted ceiling of the stairwell. He also has a trailing spelled quill; but his attentions are focused on the height and the many openings that surround the vast chasm. 

“Twenty-eight,” Harry Potter says before turning to face the man that is crouched in a corner.

“Hmm?” Draco Malfoy says.

“Twenty-eight,” he repeats. “There’s twenty-eight openings. There’re seven floors, and twenty-eight openings. That’s four openings on each floor, not including this one, which means that we need at the bare minimum a set of stairs that will give 29 different options. Twenty-eight openings, and one for the ground floor. Pay attention for once, will you?”

“I’m trying to measure these angles, you git. If I don’t get these perfect then the whole bloody twenty-eight stories won’t matter.”

“I gave you plenty of time. How long does it take to measure four walls and four angles?”

“Longer than what you think. The floor is uneven, and these aren’t even perpendicular. The walls are sagging in. Everything’s acute. The top is narrower than the bottom,” Draco Malfoy says as he shifted from the corner to individual stones on the floor.

“So it’s a frustum?”

“Exactly. A pyramid with the top cut off,” he says. Draco sighs, pushing his hair back. “Go say hi to the professors or something, just let me finish up in here before we start talking about design,” he says before turning back to the floor stones with a clearly false vigour.

“Alright,” Harry Potter says. “Come find me when you’re done.”

Draco Malfoy grunts his acknowledgement and so Harry Potter walks out of the stairwell after checking the time. It is halfway through the first morning class, so he decides to wait out in the staff lounge, which is thankfully on the ground level. He doesn’t want to bother finding the alternative route. He opens the door after letting the magic recognise him and permit his entrance, and steps inside.

It is mostly empty, except for the junior professor of Divination, who is sitting on a table, swinging her legs. She smiles at him.

“How’s the family business?”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Hi, Luna. It’s pretty good. One more year left before he leaves me for bigger and better things.”

“I’m sure he’s not going to go just because his parole is over. You’re friends now,” Luna says.

“I know,” he says. “But he’s getting a lot of attention from the competitors who still think that we’re not really friends.”

“He’s not going to go,” she says assuredly. “But anyways, I’ve heard from my dearest friends that you two have been developing a unique method of building that actually mimics the work of the founders. That sort of magic is impossible unless the two of you were friends.”

Harry looks up sharply. “Who told you that? No is supposed to know—we haven’t told anyone!”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you who told me to tell you I knew,” she says with a peaceful smile.

Harry sighs. “So you saw?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she says.

He closes his eyes. “Merlin, you almost gave me a panic attack. I couldn’t handle that getting into the hands of our competitors—”

“What’s getting into the hands of our competitors?”

“Oh, hello!” she says. “He doesn’t want the fact that you discovered how the founders built to get into your competitors’ hands.”

Draco Malfoy pales before turning to Harry who flinches without opening his eyes. “Did you tell her?”

“She saw,” Harry replies. Draco visibly relaxes and takes a deep breath. He turns to face Luna.

“You need to prepare me an apology tea,” Draco says to Luna. “I almost had a panic attack. He’s right. If our competitors got a hold of that information, we would be doomed.”

“I won’t tell.” Luna says. “Apology tea coming right up!” Luna jumps off of the table and turns to make tea.

Draco turns to slump on a chair and also closes his eyes.

“What’s the verdict?” Harry asks.

“It’s a mess,” Draco says, massaging his temples. “The whole structure needs to be repaired; I don’t know how it’s even standing. There’s a loss of over two feet on all sides. It’s actually pretty damn noticeable if you’re standing at the bottom looking straight up.”

“I think I noticed that. But the only way to fix that is to—”

“Restructure the building. And this is Hogwarts. In the middle of term. With hundreds of current students.”

“But if we don’t, the whole building could collapse. Serious structural failure. Is it spell corrosion?”

“Most likely. The spells that helped ensure the proper angles of the stairwell have been slowly failing, which led to their slow inward collapse. The stairs fell because—”

“Repeated interaction with the failing walls, and the spells could take only so much variation from their dictated dimensional boundaries. When they varied too much, the spells collapsed, and the stairs fell,” Harry says.

“Exactly.”

“So where do we start? Do we shut down the building? Evacuate the wings closest to the impending collapse? We can’t just rebuild to new dimensional specifications.”

“No, we can’t. That’ll lead to more horrible accidents. But if the spells are failing in the stairwell, they might be failing around the entire school. And if any part of the school collapses, there’s the risk that hundreds of students could die. Below the ground floor we have Hufflepuff and Slytherin and house elves, in addition to volatile potions ingredients that are probably just waiting for a trigger to cause disaster. Above ground, we have classrooms full of untrained overactive students, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the Hospital Wing, the library, teachers, countless of priceless artefacts.”

“Well, we aren’t going to let the building collapse.”

“We’re going to try our hardest to stop it, but it might despite our best efforts. I mean, you’re powerful and I’m intelligent, but we’re still only two men. We can certainly fight against the castle but we need to prepare in case of the worst scenario.”

“A complete and full evacuation of everything within the castle. How long do you think it’ll take?”

“Probably an hour,” a voice chimes in. The two men startle. They completely forgot they were not alone. Luna is standing with a tray of prepared tea. “Here’s your apology tea, Draco,” she says as she hands Draco a cup of tea. “The house elves practice the procedure every holiday break during the night. All material possessions are removed excluding people are removed within forty-five minutes. Another forty-five minutes to put them back. I presume the people and the beds will take about fifteen more minutes.”

The two men stare at her blankly. She just smiles.

“Well then, that settles it. Please let them know we believe a full evacuation of the castle is in order to due to severe structural failure evident in the castle. Call for a conference of the professors and we can discuss our findings with them. Let’s go look for more evidence to see if the damage is widespread or localised,” Harry says.

“After my apology tea,” Draco says. “Luna has yet to apologise.”

“Oh, my dear Draco, I am sorry for frightening you. Please forgive me,” Luna says with a bow. “Also, please reassure Harry that you’re not leaving even after your parole ends.”

“Luna!” Harry chokes on his tea. She smiles knowingly.

Draco smiles. “Thank you, Luna. I forgive you. I accept your apology tea,” he says. “And Harry, you idiot, of course I’m not leaving. Although Archie’s is looking wildly tempting—do you know how much they’re offering me? Fifty thousand galleons a year—”

Harry scoffs. “If you left me, I know for a fact you wouldn’t leave me for Archie’s. Besides, that’s pocket change to what you’re making now.”

“But the alliteration, Harry!” Draco says. “It’s so catchy. Why didn’t you come up with something like that?”

Harry shakes his head morosely. “I failed, Draco,” he admits. “I never thought about that. LSA will never be able to compete with the genius that is Archie’s Arches.”

Draco snorts. He drains his tea cup before following waving good-bye for Luna and following Harry out of the break room.

* * *

“Do you think we made the right choice, Lizzy? Going without the privacy contract?” Harry asks later that night.

Lizzy looks at Harry carefully. “Harry,” she says, “I think you’re forgetting something important. LSA is widely known as the best architectural firm _worldwide_, and nothing can affect its reputation at this point.”

Lizzy waves her hands at a corner of their room. “Do you _see_ those framed articles over there? Did you even read them?”

Harry makes neither affirming nor discouraging sounds so Lizzy presses on. “Every single one of them is an _awards_ listing for LSA. And LSA is always on top. LSA has never lost.”

Harry nods. “But that’s nothing related to—"

“I’m getting there, love. Remember when you and Draco entered in that European competition last year? To build a shed and the last one standing wins a million euros? There were over ten thousand companies entered?” Lizzy says. “Even your friend Ahmed was there!”

When Harry nods, she continues, “And everyone there had at least thirty people on their team, but when you and Draco showed up—just the two of you—everyone was so intimidated. But when you entered your private booth and exited only a few hours later, everyone laughed and no one thought your construct would last past the third stage. Other people had spent _hours_ on their sheds, and you only spent what—three?”

“Two,” Harry corrects.

“Two hours,” Lizzy says passionately. “And then when the competition began – and the stages started—what were they all? They had different categories—”

“Geological, hydrological, meteorological, magical, astronomical,” Harry says quietly.

“And with each successive round—there were seventeen consecutive rounds, right?” Lizzy says. “One right after the other—with no repair time in between.”

“Avalanche, landslide, earthquake, sinkhole, volcano; flood, tsunami; hurricane, blizzard, hail, ice, thunder, tornado, fire; asteroid, zero gravity; magical bombardment,” Harry says, counting on his fingers. “I think that’s all.”

“And how many did you pass?” Lizzy asks.

Harry doesn’t answer.

“You passed _fifteen_. LSA passed the _most_ rounds in the entire history of the competition. The second place winner was destroyed on the ninth round. Your building only broke when an _asteroid_ hit it. I remember, because the commentators were so pleased they were able to finally use that spell. Harry, love—LSA gained its reputation that day. Your name is in no way going to affect LSA. Your work speaks for itself,” Lizzy says. “You are _incredible_. You have done an amazing thing—you and Draco both. I know you’re upset that the privacy contract is essentially null and void now, but maybe this is a good thing. Maybe this will finally allow people to see you for who you really are, and not for who they thought you were.”

Harry sighs. “I’m just scared,” he admits. “I know that it’s the _right_ thing to do, but it doesn’t mean I _want_ to do it, you know? Does that make me a bad person?”

Lizzy shakes her head. “No, Harry,” she says. “It doesn’t. It makes you real.”

* * *

The newspaper arrives at their house early the next morning. The front page is plastered with the bold heading: “_Hogwarts Evacuated! Damages More Severe Than Expected!” _To Harry’s relief, the announcement of the lack of privacy contract was complimentary: “_Due to the extraordinary circumstances regarding the Hogwarts Disaster, the owners of LSA are working on the repairs without their renowned privacy contract, finally revealing that the owners are none other than Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Draco Malfoy. Mr. Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, is famous for his defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Mr. Malfoy, on the other hand, has an unsavoury past with recorded involvement with the very same Dark Lord’s regime. These two individuals theoretically would not interact, but close acquaintances of the duo report that they are good friends and have reconciled their differences. With regard to LSA, an investigation of the company led to the discovery that the founder of LSA is an individual named Mr. Advait Bajwa. When or how the company transferred hands to Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy is not known. Whether or not LSA is a recent acquisition for Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy is unknown, but interviews with previous clients suggest that the two have owned LSA for several years; most notably, they owned the company when it won the prestigious European Construction Durability Competition in 2009. With this in mind, the reliability of their upcoming Hogwarts repairs is ensured._”

Harry shows Lizzy the article and she smiles knowingly. “See? There was nothing to worry about,” she tells him kindly.

“I’m just worried about the mail,” Harry says. “Pass me the toast, will you?”

“From the Weasley’s?” Lizzy asks.

Harry nods, his mouth full of food. He swallows before responding, “Yes—remember when they asked me to fix up the Burrow?”

“They probably won’t be very happy about this,” Lizzy says. “But they’re irrelevant—what they think is insignificant. You just have to remind yourself that the most important people love you.”

Harry twists his lips. “I try and tell myself that, but it still hurts, you know? Their opinions really matter to me even though I don’t want them to,” he says. “I’d rather hear nothing at all than find out they’re upset with me.”

“Would you really?” Lizzy says, “I think their silence might be just as painful as their scorn.”

Harry fidgets in his chair. He’s bouncing his leg—a nervous habit he’s had for years—shaking the table through the vibrations.

Lizzy lets Harry burn his nervous energy this way for some time, but when Lizzy’s coffee cup starts to rattle on the table, she stops him by saying, “Harry, you need to get dressed. You’ve got to get to work soon. I’ll let you know while you’re upstairs if you’ve any mail.”

Harry sighs, but stands up from the table and leaves the room. Lizzy looks at the table, messy with the breakfast plates and the crumbs Harry has left where he was sitting. She knows that she could ask Harry to clean up for her with a few spells, but she feels like she would be taking advantage of him. She clears the table by hand, then begins to wash the dishes in the sink.

* * *

The stairs at Hogwarts fell in late March, and it is now late April. Draco and Harry are exhausted, but despite their thoroughness, their progress has been fast due to their experience. The repairs are almost complete.

The letter from the Weasleys has not yet arrived—and Harry is starting to think it never will. He’s okay with this, much more okay than he had anticipated. He’s happy, despite the daily reminders he sees when repairing the castle of his time spent there with Hermione and Ron.

But then again, he’s with Draco this time around—and new memories are being made. Covering up the new. The castle is starting to feel almost cumbersome with the weight of their magic—but Harry is only slight concerned about this, considering that he’s the only one of the pair that feels like he’s walking through mud every time they cast the spell. The magic around them is spiced and full of life—and Harry can tell that Draco is starting to realize that the weight of it is becoming unwieldly. They’re going to have to figure out a solution for this, but Harry thinks that this problem will resolve itself when they’ve finished—then the magic can spread itself out across the entire castle instead of being restricted and concentrated in the locations where they originally cast the spell. Then the magic will be a network—free flowing throughout the entire castle stones.

It is a beautiful morning—the sky is clear and spring is beginning to awaken from the ground. Lizzy is finishing the washing while Harry is upstairs getting dressed, when their owl drops off several letters onto the table through the open window. In order to prevent an endless stream of owls from following them all over the property, Harry performed some magic that directed all owl post to a single drop-off. From there, their own owl would deliver once an day in the morning. Lizzy assumed this was commonplace—but she was assured by Astoria that no, this was not the typical scenario. Lizzy feels like her experience with the magical world has been a very different one compared to most, based off of what Harry’s friends have told her.

Lizzy examines the envelopes. There are a few that appear to be interview requests from newspapers—these are standard, and Harry has received only a few more than usual today. She sets them aside, and then finds the letter Harry had been dreading—the one from the Weasleys.

Lizzy hesitates, but decides that she’s going to be reading this letter before she shows Harry.

_Harry – _

_We saw the article about how you own Living Stone Architecture almost a month ago, but we didn’t know what to say until recently. Truthfully, we still don’t know what to say, except that we’re upset that you don’t trust us. You’d think that after everything we’ve been through together trust would be the one thing we would have left. We didn’t finish school because we trusted you—we followed you, we were hunted, we fought a war, and we were almost killed because we trusted you. We trusted you, but you never trusted us. _

_We don’t know why you decided you could trust Malfoy over us, but this realization hurts us deeply. We haven’t kept in touch very well, but we’ve only just realized that this was on purpose, on your part. You lied to us, because lying by omission is the same as a lie. We grew apart, which is okay, but you pretended to want to keep in touch with us, and we can’t help but think it would have been better if we just had made a clean break._

_It feels like our friendship has been a scab you’ve been trying to peel off for years now. And now that we know just whose company you prefer over our own, it makes a lot more sense. It’s best to rip off the rest of the plaster quickly._

_We always expected that you would be an uncle our daughter would know and love. But now, we realize all you will be is a fairy tale._

_Hermione & Ron Weasley_

Lizzy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her husband would not want to see this letter. Silence would be better than this outright rejection of their past. Harry has accepted their silence with hardly a limp in his stride—how badly would this news affect him? She wants to be honest with Harry, and she has never withheld anything from him before. She folds the letter and hesitates as Harry walks downstairs.

Her decision is made for her when the floo chimes and Astoria steps out with a cheery greeting.

“Hi, Tori,” Lizzy says when Harry gives her a hug.

“I have the greatest news, but you _can’t_ tell Draco yet, okay? I’m going to tell him later!” Astoria says as she squeezes Lizzy tightly.

“Well, go on!” Harry says. “What’s the surprise?”

“I’m pregnant!” Astoria says with such a large smile that it barely fits on her face.

“That’s fantastic!” Lizzy exclaims, taking Astoria’s hands. “How far along?”

“Six weeks,” Astoria says.

“Congratulations! I won’t tell Draco a thing—but I’ve got to go. I wish I could stay and celebrate with you,” Harry gives Astoria another hug.

“Don’t tell him anything! I’m setting up a surprise for him and he’s going to be _thrilled_!” Astoria says.

Harry grins. “My lips are sealed!” He gives Lizzy a kiss, and then leaves.

“You have to tell me everything,” Lizzy says as she guides Astoria to the couch.

“You know—you know how Draco’s wanted kids for a while? But I didn’t—I was resisting?” Astoria says. “Well, I didn’t tell him I went off of the contraceptive potion I was on—because I wanted to surprise him.”

“Is he going to be okay with that?” Lizzy says. She’s surprised. She could never imagine herself doing something behind Harry’s back regarding something so monumental as a human child.

“He had said something about wanting a baby only a few days before, and if I was ready to try,” Astoria says. “I hedged my answer, and he didn’t push. He totally wants a kid.”

Lizzy nods. “That’s great then! Congratulations! Are you able to tell if the sex this early with magic?”

“Yes,” Astoria says. “But I don’t want to find out. I don’t care if my baby is a boy or a girl or a hippopotamus. They can make that choice for themselves when they’re ready.”

Lizzy raises an eyebrow. “Really? So you’re not going to... define its gender?”

“No,” Astoria says, “I know that’s what a lot of people do, but I don’t want to force my baby into suffering from gender dysphoria if he’s a she or she’s a he, so we’re going with gender neutral colours for baby gear and I’ll let my baby decide whenever they’re ready. Kids intuitively know this stuff.”

“I didn’t think that was a magical practice,” Lizzy admits. “It’s not really accepted in non-magical society.”

“Well, it’s not either. Sure, we’ve magic to make transitions easier for transgender people, but I think that the sooner the person is able to identify, the less gender dysphoria they have to suffer. Merlin forbid my child has to go through puberty as the wrong gender! I can only imagine how devastating that would be,” Astoria says.

“What about names then?” Lizzy asks. “I thought Draco’s family was big into tradition with constellation naming patterns.”

“Oh,” Astoria pauses. “I hadn’t really thought about that.”

“Are there any gender neutral constellations?” Lizzy says.

“Let’s find out!” Astoria says. “_Accio_ astronomy textbooks!”

Lizzy snorts at this summoning charm, but watches as several books appear from different corners of the house.

“You look at this one.” Astoria hands Lizzy a book.

It’s a book describing the 88 formally recognized constellations in alphabetical order. Lizzy looks at the table of contents.

“Ara is the best one, I think,” Lizzy says. “Unless you want to name your kid Reticulum.”

Astoria laughs. “Oh yes, I see it now. Reticulum Malfoy!”

Lizzy shakes her head. “I think with the name, you might have to go without a star name—but what does Draco feel about all of this?”

Astoria pauses again. “I hadn’t really thought about that either.”

Lizzy smiles gently. “You should probably talk to him before you decide on your parenting strategies.”

Astoria sighs. “You’re probably right, you know. When are you and Harry having kids?”

Lizzy slowly loses her smile. “We can’t,” she says. “Harry isn’t able to father any kids.”

“Oh, Merlin—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bring up any sore subjects!” Astoria apologises.

“It’s okay,” Lizzy says. “We’re planning on adopting some kids when we’re older.”

“You two would be good parents,” Astoria says softly. “They would be the luckiest kids in the world.”

“We’d be the luckiest parents,” Lizzy corrects. “We just want to have a family.”

They are quiet for a few seconds before Astoria smiles. “Your time will come,” she says. “I know it.”

* * *

It is later that afternoon when Harry and Draco are in the Hogwarts main stairwell—the site of the original collapse. It is the last and final section of the repairs before Hogwarts can officially reopen.

They’re both standing by the entrance to the room. Harry is levitating some of the massive marble pieces away from the centre point at the base in order to start reforming the stairs. The centre is where they need to place the blood for the room—with the size of the stairwell, placing blood on individual pieces is impossible. Putting blood on the central location is necessary to stabilize the entire space, as they’ve learned throughout the month of repairs.

As Harry is clearing the floor, Draco is trimming the stone on the upper floors to make the areas of the ceiling and floor of the cuboid room equal and provide perpendicular surfaces.

All is going well when somehow a piece of Draco’s work interferes with Harry’s levitation and starts a cascading reaction of crumbling stone. It’s only due to Harry’s quick and instinctive reaction that causes him to halt the magic in its place—frozen in time. The stone plummets and almost crashes onto the floor but Harry stops it before it does. The centre point is clear—and there is enough room for someone to anchor the Living Stone spell there. 

They stand there gasping for air—before they look at each other with wide eyes. They had predicted this task to be easy but now—now it has turned far more sinister.

Harry blinks hard a few times before he begins to speak. It takes Draco a couple moments to begin to process what he’s saying.

“—drop the marble since we both need to cast at the same time,” Harry finishes. Draco shakes his head.

“Say that again,” Draco asks.

“Basically, I’m going to have to drop the marble since we need to cast at the same time to fix this,” Harry repeats.

“But—but Harry—” Draco says. “We need someone in the centre.”

And if the marble drops—it will fall right on the centre.

Harry nods. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

“We can’t—we can’t do this. Just drop the marble and then we can deal with the outcome,” Draco says.

Harry is starting to sweat—Draco has never seen this before—and then says, “I don’t know really what happened when the spells combined but something—something caused a chain reaction and it’s _still going on_.”

“But you’ve stopped it!” Draco says. He refuses to accept what he thinks this must mean.

“No,” Harry says with a laugh that sounds pained. “I’ve paused it—but if we don’t fix the stairs right after I release the stones, it’ll—the—the spell—”

Harry grits his teeth and fixes his grip on his wand—_his wand_, Draco realises with rapidly increasing dread. “Backlash—it’ll keep going—spread throughout the castle—I don’t know when it’ll stop—it’s feeding off of the magic we’ve been casting all month.”

“Harry—” Draco says. “I’ll go—I’ll do it.”

“No,” Harry says. “I’ll do it. I’ll go under the stone. Hogwarts was my home once.”

“It was mine once too!” Draco insists.

Harry blinks fiercely. “Not in the same way that it was mine. And coming here has made me realise just how much I’ve grown since we were kids. I’ve lived a good life.”

“But you are _loved_,” Draco exclaims. “I’m worthless—no one will miss me much, except for family—so let me do it—there will be an uproar over your death!”

Harry shakes his head. A bead of sweat drips down the side of his face. “I will risk myself. Astoria is pregnant—she didn’t want to tell you yet, I don’t know why. You have to live for your kid.”

“You’re lying—there’s no way she’d tell you and not me,” Draco says.

“She came over this morning, Dray,” Harry says hoarsely. “It doesn’t matter—but looking, you have a kid coming; I don’t.”

“You could! Lizzy could be pregnant!”

“Dray, Lizzy and I—we can’t have kids. It’s not going to happen to us, okay? The horcrux—it took that away from me, and that’s okay. It’s why it took me so long to marry her but we’re okay with it. I didn’t want to prevent her from having a family when I knew she wanted kids—she was hesitant and I was hesitant, but we decided whatever, you know/ There’s more to life than kids. But you’ll be a great dad—and I’ll do this. And it may not even matter—I could be fine,” Harry says, but he looks away.

Draco knows immediately that this matters—that Harry wasn’t going to survive this—that Harry was going to _die_—that there was nothing he could do to stop this because if he didn’t let Harry die, then the entire castle would crumble and the magical backlash would destroy the forest and Hogsmeade and—Harry was going to die.

“Just finish the spell, Dray. Whatever happens, just finish the spell.”

“Harry, wait—slow down for a second, you can’t—you’re stronger than me, you can hold the weight of the spells for longer than me and I can go under and fix it—” Draco begs.

Harry looks at Draco with calm eyes. “Promise me, Draco Malfoy—promise me, swear it to me. Finish the spell. Don’t let this be in vain.”

Draco hesitates. “I promise,” he says.

Harry takes a deep breath and looks straight into Draco’s soul. “Tell Lizzy I love her.”

“—Harry, wait!”

But it is too late—Harry is sliding underneath the mountain of marble and Draco can hear the muffled sound of his words and he can feel the magic pulse out from where he is. It’s like a wave—a ripple of Harry’s magic, so familiar to Draco after all these years that it rips through his heart when it tears apart his own spells. Draco clings to them, but there’s nothing that can be done to the inevitable—the stones fall.

And Harry is gone.

The sacrifice—the sacrifice of blood. The final piece. The step that the founder’s missed. The step that made Hogwarts fail those weeks ago—this was that step, Draco realises. They couldn’t bear to sacrifice one of their own, someone whose magic was embedded into the very soul of this castle. And Harry’s is now, after their repairs. And if it wasn’t for his mistake—for Draco’s mistake, oh God, his stupid mistake—then they wouldn’t have known this either.

This is why buildings last forever. Not because of drops of blood. Not because of words. But because of knowing, _worthy_ sacrifice—and Draco knows that his spell won’t do anything, but he promised so he casts it anyways.

_“Lapis Structura in animo est, vivens!”_

And maybe because he said it and he was crying, but he feels more peaceful now, his promise fulfilled. The mountain of marble on the ground lifts and returns to their places and the stairwell reforms and the moving staircases come back to life like they were intended. The walls, smooth and clean, the floor polishes itself, the stairs gleam, and the castle is alive, but—

There—at the floor—a shape.

It’s Harry.

Broken, misshaped. Crushed.

And undeniably gone.

Draco runs to him and drops his wand and he cries. He cries because this was his fault and he cries because Harry is dead now, and he has to tell Lizzy, and he has to tell Astoria, and Luna, and their friends and oh God—_Lizzy_. And his wife is pregnant and Lizzy can’t ever be pregnant because of the damn horcrux that took away half of Harry’s life.

Draco is crying—wailing—but the castle—oh, the castle—it is _singing_.

The funeral is held. It is large, gaudy; everything Harry would hate. “He’s a national hero.” The ministry says, which is their excuse for taking over what should be a private manner. And when the minister finds out that Harry married a _muggle_—they prevent Lizzy from coming to the funeral and Lizzy screams profanities at them until they leave her home. Blair and Ross come to stay with Lizzy at the house by the shores of Loch Awe and hold her tightly and cannot understand why she was prohibited from going to the funeral.

When Draco and Astoria find out this, they refuse to attend as well.

When they learn that Hermione Granger is to speak at the funeral, Lizzy is so furious that she asks Draco to send Hermione a howler at the event that would recite what the letter they sent Harry on the last day of his life. Draco tries to come up with the words that would placate Lizzy’s broken heart, but he fails and so he pretends to send the howler, and instead never does.

They hold a private memorial later. It is at home, it is quiet, it is private. It is for Harry—the man they knew. Lizzy breaks down, unable to keep her composure any longer. Draco cries too; Astoria is the strong one.

Time passes—and time is cruel.

Astoria has her child in November. Draco and Astoria dress the child in green, yellow, and purple.

Lizzy gains weight. She doesn’t talk to anyone but Astoria, who is close-lipped. Lizzy spends a lot of time with their baby.

Draco drinks a lot. He closes LSA—he says it was Harry’s and that he cannot justify running it anymore. The parole offer, Auror Hughes, says that Draco did not fulfil the requirements of the parole since Harry died and that he would have to come in for weekly meetings again.

Astoria rips into Auror Hughes:“Draco’s best friend has just died, you asshole, can you give him a break? We’ve just had a baby, and Draco has been _perfect_. He work at that company for 9 years—a long time, and it was barely under your stupid requirement. Go away. He’s done his parole. Draco’s a good person. Let us grieve.”

Auror Hughes is a bit taken aback, but succumbs to Astoria’s anger. He heard what happened at Hogwarts. Everyone has.

A few people think that Draco killed Harry. Those people are the worst, and they protest outside Draco and Astoria’s house constantly.

_Hogwarts has never been more beautiful_, newspaper articles say. _Whatever happened in there was good—evil magic never is beautifu_l, they reason.

Archibald of Archie’s Arches comes to visit Draco and asks him for the spells he used since LSA closed. Draco declines rudely. He says that the spells were Harry’s and that they will die with him.

Draco is depressed. He contemplates suicide. He can’t help but dream about the crushed body at the bottom of the stairwell.

Hogwarts installs two monuments at the base of the stairwell: a small plaque to the three Hufflepuff girls, and a large pedestal in the centre dedicated to Harry Potter. It is a statue of Harry himself. It is absurd, and Draco hates it, and Lizzy hates it, and she cries a lot more frequently.

Draco gets a firecall from Lizzy one evening and Lizzy begs Draco to take her to the hospital. Draco does so when he realises that Lizzy is sitting in a spreading pool of blood—and the doctors tell Lizzy that is was a miscarriage and that they are so sorry for her loss.

Lizzy cries. Despite the odds—despite everything—she had been pregnant—and then she had lost the baby. There is nothing left of Harry on this earth.

Nothing except his buildings—his buildings that will never fall. 


	7. Lift-off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn how a stranger finds an even stranger building on a strange asteroid on an unfamiliar planet.

**VII. Lift-off**

_A history of a building that will never fall_

2021 – It takes until Scorpius Malfoy goes to Hogwarts and walks into the school for Harry Potter’s magic to wake up. Scorpius feels like he is coming home. The castle wraps him in a warm magic that his dad told him was unique to Harry Potter. The castle, Scorpius Malfoy decides, surely must be Harry Potter saying hello. Whenever he sees the statue in the stairwell, Scorpius knows intuitively that Harry hates it simply because of how the magic feels. He thinks this is funny. He goes through his entire school career touching the walls, and telling the castle—who he named Harry—hello. And he always gets a gentle nudge of that welcoming magic in return.

2066 – Genevieve Malfoy is graduating Hogwarts and she runs her hand down the stone one final time. “Good-bye, Harry,” she says. Her grandfather spoke of the man fondly, and she has been happy to get to know him here. The castle says good-bye in return and thanks her for trying to topple that horrible statue.

2124 – Ikaros Malfoy is a third year at Hogwarts and he is telling the new batch of first-years about the castle. “Welcome to Harry Potter’s school. Officially, the name is Hogwarts—but as soon as you show up, you’ll know that his name is really Harry Potter. He has a statue in the grand stairwell, but he really doesn’t like it. Our goal is to bring it down. No one in over 100 years has succeeded. I think that together, we can do it. We’re also going to change the name of the school. Harry will think it’s annoying, so we’re going to do it. Besides, no one even calls the place Hogwarts anymore except on the official letterhead.”

2286 – Numerous Malfoys try to topple the Harry Potter statue as a rite of passage and none succeed until Draco H. Malfoy is a 6th year at Harry Potter’s School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. He finally collapses the statue of Harry Potter in the grand stairwell. The magic in the castle is rejoicing and everyone in the school is celebrating. “Thank Merlin,” the Headmistress said, “Harry really hated that statue.”

2800 – With the statue gone, Harry Potter’s is as quiet as a magical school can be, and harry gives every first year a warm hug as they enter. The Malfoy name has vanished, but there’s always a few students who feel a certain bond to the castle—they have a greater sense for Harry Potter’s magic than anyone else. No one makes the connection.

3351 – The last Headmaster of Harry Potter’s School for Witchcraft and Wizardry stands in his now empty office and looks round with tears in his eyes. “I am sorry, Harry. But we have to go. We were able to withstand the effects of the environmental changes with magic for only so long. But the atmosphere is too harsh for us to breathe now, and no one is having any more children. Thank you, Harry—for everything. May we meet again.” Harry Potter’s magic weeps as the Headmaster ushers out the last of the house elves, closes the school, and vanishes.

4402 – Harry Potter’s School for Witchcraft and Wizardry stills stands even though the wizards and witches have long left. Harry Potter’s magic has dropped the wards, desperate for some interaction. The school is impeccably clean. Wandering animals sometimes walk through the castle but they are few and far between. Other buildings dot the desert that used to be the United Kingdom. They all feel very similar.

5832 – It has been a very long time, but the castle stands empty still. But it still stands. It is a building that will never fall. Intelligent life has fled the United Kingdom—humans have left the planet altogether. All that remains is dust.

10000 – The castle remains, looking the same as it did the first time it was built. Harry Potter’s magic has gone dormant. Animals that walk through the castle no longer stir his attention. He is asleep. It will only take other magic to wake him now. But the castle will stand clean, pristine, and solid without his constant attention anyways.

15392 – And there it is—_ a spark of magic_ and Harry Potter’s magic awakens to find a strange humanoid figure entering his walls—it is intelligent, not human—no, time has passed and there are no longer any humans in this galaxy; Harry Potter’s magic remains. As does his building.

15393 – The humanoid beings move in to the castle. Harry Potter’s magic plays host to their strange lives. They are magical, but unaware of it. Harry feels that it is only natural that he must teach them; this was originally a _school_.

15400– The beings, _Doruns_, are now witches and wizards. They have learned magic, and they call Harry Potter’s magic a new name --- _Nawbe_, which means Father in their language. Nawbe accepts his new name, and thus begins a new cycle of teaching, hope, and Nawbe’s School for Witchcraft and Wizardry is reopened for the first time in over 12,000 years. The castle looks the same as it did the day Harry Potter died: brand new.

15450 – The _Doruns_ are people of war, Nawbe learns. They use the magic he has taught them and destroy the planet. Life—any form of it—nothing is left on the earth.

15460 – The _Doruns_ have passed on. Despite their best efforts, Nawbe’s School stands, looking the same as it always had.

15500 – The planet is a desolate wasteland. The oceans have dried; the atmosphere is empty—nothing is left but a scorched earth, crying out. Nawbe—_no, it’s Harry; they betrayed me_—is alone at last. Nothing remains.

24310 – Existence is pain. Harry tries to hibernate, like he did before. But the _Doruns_ damaged him somehow—they took away that peace. They took away his rest.

31943 – The windstorms have grown fiercer, now. Harry knows that the smaller buildings he once had been destroyed in the _Doruns_ destruction. Harry wishes he could be destroyed too.

52385 – An asteroid hits earth, and it splits in two. Harry is sent catapulting deep into the darkness of space—out of the orbit of the sun. He fears he will never see light again.

? – Without light, the passage of time is immeasurable. Harry waits. He keeps the castle clean.

It has been a long time.

And then—is that light?

Suddenly—the asteroid Harry is on is an inferno of stone and he is careening toward something green and bright and—

—impact.

* * *

The professor and the explorer sit down before staring at each other in awe.

“You have to take me to this building, now,” the professor says. “You’ve—you’ve found _Harry Potter_.”

“How did he _find_ us?” the explorer asks. “Out of all of the planets in the world—how did Harry find the one that the magical people went to? How did he find _our_ planet?”

“You have to—get the—get the Headmaster,” the professor exclaims.

“Do you think—” the explorer says as the professor nods, and so the explorer runs out of the room and leaves the professor behind.

The professor stares at this book—this biography, rather, of Harry Potter. He sits there in awe—and then starts to laugh.

The explorer returns with the Headmaster. He is exceptionally old—the oldest member of their society, the eldest man in the colony, and their founder—and when he sees the book that is on the desk, his eyes widen.

“Where did you find that?” he says.

“In a strange building—on an asteroid,” the explorer says.

The Headmaster picks it up, and opens its pages. He looks immediately confused when he realizes he cannot read it. “Why can’t I?”

“It’s in runes,” the professor says. “Ancient language—I have rarely seen it.”

“I just was expecting something different,” the Headmaster admits.

“Take me there,” the Headmaster demands.

The professor, explorer, and Headmaster all travel to the asteroid site and the strange building. When the Headmaster sees it—he immediately starts to cry.

“Oh, for all—my—” he stammers while weeping uncontrollably.

“Are you alright?” The explorer says.

“I am more than alright,” the Headmaster says. “Let’s go inside.”

The three approach the building and the Headmaster begins to tell them about the time before the colony—how he was the last person who had been woken that was from the home planet. How back when they lived on the home planet, people lived much longer lives, but people die much younger now so that’s why his age seems so extraordinary. But that they have only really been on this planet for 80 years and that the magic they had used had taken them thousands of years to arrive here. And how he had requested that he be woken upon landing—and how when he did he had discovered that most people that had been requested to wake several years before landing. But that time awake in travel-time had disrupted their lifespans. And so now he was so old—but he wasn’t really that old—but that when he was on the home planet, he had taught at Harry Potter’s school, that he was the last Headmaster of that school. That he had been the one to close the school down because the magical people were leaving the home planet—and that this school in front of them? That this school was that school he used to teach.

The explorer and professor listen in awe to the Headmaster’s story.

As soon as the Headmaster steps inside he touches the wall and says, “Oh, Harry—we are meeting again.”

The Headmaster gives the explorer and professor a tour—showing them the rooms and the classrooms and how there were hundreds of students at one point, how battles had been fought there and people fell in love there and there was such history in these stones that it was if they were _alive_ as if they were _living stone_ that this castle was not just a castle that it was Harry Potter—that was who the magic belonged to.

And that the book they found must have been written in the language Harry Potter used to use, because that was not the language that was used when he was the Headmaster, and so then the Headmaster sits down on one of the tables in the Great Hall and he smiles so broadly that he cries tears of joy.

“Oh, this is my home,” the Headmaster says. “Thank you, for telling me about your discovery.”

“So what will we do with this?” the explorer says.

“We already have a university,” the professor points out.

“The university is new construction—this building? This is a school. It is a home for the homeless and a rest for the weary and a balm for the burned. This is a school – and so a school it shall be,” the Headmaster says. “As soon as we can make access here easier, I imagine we’ll open up for enrolment.”

“Like it used to be?” the explorer asks.

“Just like it used to be,” the Headmaster says. “Isn’t that right, Harry?”

And a strong sense of magic encompasses the three and they just _know _the castle—oh, the castle—it is _singing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story!
> 
> Some final thoughts: I feel like this story is more of a rambling than actual plot--but I hope that you find it as enjoyable to read as I found it to write. I let a lot of potential plot lines and side stories fall to the side on the way through. I may (but probably will not) go over this story at a later date to try and flesh out some of the loose ends that I completely ignored. But you may have some outstanding questions that didn't fit into the narrative:
> 
> 1\. What happened with Daphne and Wesley?  
If I was a proper writer, this wouldn't be a question. Daphne and Wesley continued to pursue Wesley's ambitious political plans. If I cared for plot, I would have created an incident where there would have been a dangerous confrontation between the two groups that could have resulted in Harry taking a larger role in the world. Personally, I consider this as a major and blaring flaw of this story.
> 
> 2\. Why were you so hard on Hermione and Ron? Why did you make them so stubborn?  
I tried so hard to not "bash" them, so I apologise if it came across as bashing. I love both Hermione and Ron as characters. I tried to portray that they just grew apart from each other--and that sometimes we assume things about friends we had when we were children that no longer apply anymore. The labeling and refusal to let go of the past is damaging to friendships. I think Hermione and Ron both wanted to stay close with Harry--but they were hurt by his neglectful behaviour and other incidents where Harry did not include them in his post-Hogwarts life.   
Hermione and Ron still love Harry--and after Harry's death, Hermione and Ron try to reconcile with Harry's family and friends. Obviously, it doesn't work so well because Harry is the one thing they have in common, but there isn't lasting resentment. The slow destruction of the trio's friendship was due to holding grudges and a slow accumulation of communication errors--something that happens to real friendships all the time. 
> 
> 3\. What about the second family in Haryana?  
They found about Harry's death, and grieved. But their lives were separate and so it was not as devastating as it was for everyone else. They probably found out some weeks later when Draco remembered to send them an owl with the news. 
> 
> 4\. What about Lizzy? Draco and Astoria?  
They continued to live, as we all do. They grieved, they mourned, and eventually, they moved on. And while they found sorrow, they did find happiness as well. 
> 
> If you have any additional questions, leave a comment, and I'll answer you there. Thank you for reading!


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